Ivar dismounted and led his horse to drink. “Is there any sign?”
“We’ve been following the tracks of two riders since yesterday,” Lars answered.
“But you didn’t find them.” Ivar eyed the men critically.
“Not yet,” Lars replied. “When it became too dark to follow the trail we made camp.”
“Did they also make camp?” Ivar asked.
Anders shifted nervously. “We saw no evidence of it. If they did, they were well hidden.”
Ivar broadened his stance and pinned them with a lethal stare. “So you made camp while the woman continued without rest.”
Both men shifted and flushed with the shame he’d intended to evoke. He knew he was being unreasonable. The torrential rains that had slowed his progress had finally weakened to drizzle, but the fog that now enshrouded the land made tracking all but impossible. Nevertheless, he had half a mind to cleave their heads from their shoulders.
“Mount up!” he commanded. “We will acquire fresh horses wherever they are to be had and we will catch her before she reaches Poitou.”
Part of him had a mind to just let her go, but that would be to admit defeat. She had once more made a fool of him. He vowed that it would be the last time.
Hours later, he came upon Emma’s servant who had managed to construct a crude shelter and was now trying ineffectually to build a fire. The man startled at the approaching horses, his eyes widened at the moment of recognition, but he made no attempt to flee. Instead, his shoulders sagged in a gesture of surrender.
He threw himself to his knees as Ivar dismounted. “Please, milord. I fear my lady’s life is in peril. I can do nothing for her. You must help her.”
Ivar’s gaze tracked to the limp form lying on the ground by a barely smoking stack of tinder and his chest constricted. Pale-faced and blue-lipped, his valiant Valkyrie indeed had the look of a corpse.
Flinging his bridle reins to Lars, Ivar lunged toward her and scooped her into his arms. Although unconscious, she was still breathing. Thank the gods! But the cold and damp had taken a heavy toll on her. Stubborn little fool!
They were barely two days’ ride from Poitou, which meant there should be tenant farmers close by, but he didn’t dare take the risk of putting her on his horse. She was already too far gone. Her life was in danger if she didn’t immediately get warm and dry. He had to make do with what he had. He wrapped her tightly in his fur mantle, already knowing it was insufficient. She would never get warm as long as she was wet.
“Anders,” Ivar bellowed as he stripped off his fur mantle and wrapped it around her. “Build me a decent fire.”
“Aye.” Anders tied the horses and set immediately to work.
“Lars! Ride out and find a proper shelter for her,” Ivar commanded. “I don’t care if you have to evict starving cottagers for it.”
“Aye,” Lars nodded.
“And you,” Ivar addressed Emma’s servant. “What the devil is your name anyway?”
“Budic, milord. Me and the wife have served the lady since she was a girl.”
“You will be of no further use to her if you are dead. You will ride with Lars. I expect all to be prepared for her once she is able to travel again.”
His bloodshot eyes widened in panic. “I cannot leave her alone, milord!”
“She is not alone, and you will do as I say.” Ivar speared him with a look that quelled any further protest.
“As you say, milord.”
The old man was so weak that Lars had to assist him onto his mount, and the horse looked in almost as poor shape as its rider. Ivar wondered if either man or beast would survive the journey, but they were not his concern. No. He focused all of his concern and physical resources solely on Emma. Having grown up in Northern climes, he’d seen men fall prey to the elements countless times. When fire was scarce, there was only one solution—body heat.
Retrieving an oilskin from his saddlebag, he laid it out on the ground and then covered it with another fur taken from Anders. Lying her on the makeshift bed, Ivar grit his teeth as he began stripping her of her sodden garments. Her skin was as pale and smooth as alabaster—and just as cold to the touch. He’d fantasized about her beautiful naked body so many times that it took all of his will to stay focused on his business. Ignoring the lush hills and valleys of her body, he removed her robe and tunic and tossed the wet garments to Anders with an order to hang them over the fire.
He quickly cocooned her in bearskin and began stripping off his own tunic and shirt. His leather breeches followed, but he hesitated when he got to his short braies. Removing all of his clothes would ensure his night of torture would be complete. It had been far too long since he’d had a woman.
He honestly didn’t trust himself. Opting to keep at least that barrier between them, he crawled into the narrow bed of furs with her, but his fears of becoming aroused were immediately laid to rest. She remained completely unaware of him, and as cold and insensible as a statue, the shallow rise and fall of her chest the only sign of life.
His pulse raced in fear that he had found her too late. Desperate to warm her, Ivar rolled himself completely on top of her, skin-to-skin, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, willing her to live and wishing fervently that he could do more. Ivar offered up a prayer to the gods to save her. He would gladly bargain his own life in exchange for hers. The strength of his emotions took him aback. Was it just a desire to protect a weaker being or did it go much deeper?
As he gazed down at her face, so deathly pale and beautiful, the tightening of his chest told him it was indeed much more. He would do anything at this moment to save her, and he would give everything he owned to make her his.
He hadn’t expected any of this when he’d set out to retrieve her but something had changed. He had changed—and there was no turning back.
Emma dreamt that she was back at Quimper lying in a luxurious bed of furs beside a blazing fire. After nearly freezing to death, she was safe and secure and surrounded by precious warmth that she never thought she would feel again. But there was more, a strange heaviness covering her—a living, breathing blanket. Floundering in a fog of confusion, Emma slowly opened her eyes.
“Ah. You are awake at last.” It was him, gazing down at her with a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth.
Emma sucked in a gasp. Where was she? And how did she come to be here? She remembered nothing! At first, her mind refused to acknowledge the impossible. But it was real. He was real. She almost laughed at the irony of awakening safe and secure in her mortal enemy’s arms. Her heart raced as her gaze darted around in disoriented panic. Her next impulse was flight.
“Get off me, you rutting animal!” Emma shoved against him in vain.
His massive weight held her fast.
“You are a fickle one.” His hint of a grin stretched into a full mocking smile. “Only hours ago, you were clinging to me.”
“Only for warmth,” she protested.
“Come now, Emma,” he cajoled. “There is no point in fighting. It is past time for a truce between us.”
“A truce?”
“Aye,” he said. Still caging her with his body, he rose up onto his elbows, allowing her to take a full breath. “I have not violated you, if that’s what you fear.” He sat up with a mild twitch of his mouth. “I prefer my women to be conscious.”
And she was suddenly conscious of many things. The first of which was her lack of clothes. Acute awareness of his very large, very warm, very naked body followed. Her gaze involuntarily tracked down the thick column of his neck to his powerful shoulders, flexing pectoral muscles and torso lightly dusted with coarse ginger colored hair. She licked her lips. No living woman could fail to appreciate his physical form—and she had indeed come back to life after he had used his own body to warm her. The awareness that he’d saved her life confused her, as did the heat pooling between her thighs. She recognized her desire but couldn’t reconcile it with her confused emotions.
“Where am I?” she ask
ed, clutching for the furs to cover her nakedness from his roving, sea green eyes.
“We are about two days’ ride from Poitou,” he replied. “I credit your stamina, Lady Emma. You led quite a chase.”
“Where is Budic?” she asked. Knowing her servant would never have allowed any man to touch her, she feared the worst. “Have you killed him?”
“No. I did not kill him,” he replied. “I sent him with my man Lars to find shelter.”
She exhaled in relief. She could never have lived with herself if she’d caused his death. “What happened?” she asked. “I don’t remember anything.”
His brows furrowed. “Should I begin with your betrayal of my trust? I have dealt fairly with you, Emma, and you betrayed my faith in your honor with lies and deceit.”
“You expect truth from me when you seized my home and imprisoned me?” she replied with a snort.
“You were imprisoned by your own choosing,” he reminded her.
“What choice?” she scoffed. “You coerced me by taking my freedom and then demanded payment in flesh.”
“I demanded nothing. I merely offered you a means of payment. Just as Valdrik bought my freedom, someone must pay for yours. Which brings us to the next deception. You told me there was no one to pay your ransom. You lied.”
“I didn’t want you to know,” she said. “I thought my betrothed would come with an army to rescue me. When he didn’t, I planned my escape.”
His gaze narrowed. “To the very man who would not fight for you?” He exhaled a snort of contempt. “Why would any woman desire such a spineless husband?”
“I never said I desired him,” she argued. “My father arranged the marriage and the betrothal contract binds him to protect me.”
“If you believe this, why did you leave Quimper?” he asked.
She bit her lip and whispered. “Because he didn’t come.”
“So this is your grand plan?” he scoffed. “You nearly froze to death.”
She flushed. “I didn’t anticipate two days of rain.”
He scowled. “You should not have left at all.”
“What would you have done in my place?” she demanded.
“Me?” he laughed. “I never would have let myself be put in such a helpless position. I would have fought to my death.”
“Perhaps that is why I escaped.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps I intended to take back what you stole from me.”
“I stole nothing,” Ivar replied. “Brittany was traded in a secret bargain made by the King of the Franks.”
“What?” Emma choked in disbelief.
“’Tis true,” Ivar said. “In the treaty between Valdrik’s uncle, Rolfr and the Franks, we were given the right to claim this land for ourselves.”
“The Franks have no authority to do any such thing,” she protested. “We are a sovereign kingdom!”
“On the contrary, you are a kingdom divided,” Ivar argued. “And the Franks have had their eyes on Brittany since the death of your King Alain. It was only we Norse who stood between them and you. Duke Rudalt was weak and had many enemies. It was well known that the Breton nobles plotted against him. The Franks have been waiting for the opportunity to make their move. If not for Valdrik, it would have been only a matter of time before they invaded Brittany.”
Understanding came slowly as Emma digested his words. Although she wanted to reject it as falsehood, she knew he spoke the truth. Her father had indeed conspired against Duke Rudalt, not only with Count Ebles, but also with the Marquess of Neustria who had also lost lands in the Frank’s treaty with the Norse. He also knew of this secret pact the king had made regarding Brittany.
“Your brother allowed himself to be used by the Franks?” she accused.
“My brother only let them believe what they wanted to believe.” He grinned at the remembrance of how Valdrik had responded to the Frank’s demand to kiss the king’s foot. “But they are gravely mistaken if they think Valdrik will ever pay homage to the Franks.”
“Are you trying to convince me that your invasion was the lesser of two evils?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Think about it. Under the Franks, you would lose your sovereignty altogether. They would impose heavy taxes, loot the land, and conscript your men for the emperor’s army. Valdrik, on the other hand, wishes to unite the land and restore Brittany to its former glory.”
She returned a bitter laugh. “Are you implying I should be grateful to you?”
“I would not go so far,” he confessed, “But I am trying to make you see that I am not the enemy you believe me to be.”
“You seem to think you have already won, but the remaining Breton nobles will fight you!”
“We expected no less,” he replied. “But where are these noble warriors?” He cocked a brow and gestured to the empty fields that surrounded them. “Where is your own betrothed, Lady Emma? If this Count of Poitou wants you, he should be man enough to fight for you.”
“Perhaps he yet will,” she challenged. “Perhaps he was only delayed and is even now on the march.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “Perhaps I piss streams of molten gold.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Do not mock me!”
“I do not mock,” Ivar said. “I am endeavoring to enlighten you.”
“What will you do if I am right?”
“The same as I would have done before,” he replied. “I would ransom you.”
Her throat tightened. “So that is why you have come for me? Only because I am worth nothing to you dead?”
“This is true enough,” he replied mildly. “But I’d also hate to think all my effort in tracking you was wasted.”
“Does your Viking greed know no bounds?” she demanded. The knowledge that she was nothing more to him than chattel to be bargained stung deeply.
His smirk faded. “I only agreed that you are worth nothing to me dead. ’Tis a fact… but that isn’t the only reason I saved you.” He reached out, tracing the contour of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The tenderness of the gesture took her off guard.
“It isn’t?” she asked, feeling strangely breathless. “Then why?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I came after you because you made a fool of me, but when I saw you so close to death, I couldn’t breathe. I would have cut my own heart out to save you, Emma.”
Emma gaped. Was it true? Why else would he say such a thing?
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Her heart raced as she searched his face. His gaze softened, making him look almost human. Who was this man? Did she know him at all? He was nothing at all like the ruthless, heartless, godless savage she’d first believed him to be. His conceit and arrogance were undeniable, but so was his intelligence, fearlessness, and loyalty.
“Neither do I,” he replied. “Some things are fated to be.”
The air pulsed with tension as he slowly moved closer. Their bodies were shockingly close and indecently unclothed. If he desired, he could just take what he wanted from her, but he didn’t. He stopped a hairsbreadth away … and waited.
She nervously licked her lips as his eyes fixed on her mouth. All she had to do is turn her face away, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to act. She was tired of fighting him, and even more weary of fighting herself.
“What is it to be, Emma?” His question spoken in a low, husky tone rippled like a caress over her bare skin. “Am I your friend or your foe? Your enemy … or your lover?”
Chapter Eleven
Emma had never felt so conflicted about anything in her life. She still couldn’t reconcile that her avowed enemy had saved her life. What would she have done had she been in his position? Would she have let him die? Only days ago she would have known the answer, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she gazed into his eyes. She knew what he was really asking and understood that the next move was hers.
She closed her eyes and parted
her lips. The attraction between them defied all reason, but the moment his mouth claimed hers it made all the sense in the world. She’d felt so alone for so very long. Her entire life she’d been denied the love and acceptance she’d craved. For the first time she felt wanted, and God help her, she reciprocated his desire.
Emma surrendered to the dizzying sensation of his seeking lips, of his humid breath mingling with hers. His kiss grew more impassioned and more possessive, and she responded, weaving her fingers into his thick hair and pulling him closer. He groaned as his tongue invaded her mouth, slick and swirling, it parried with hers, overwhelming her with pleasure. She reveled in every new sensation—in the lightly abrasive sensation of his bristled face nuzzling her neck, of his hot breath on her skin, of his calloused hands stroking the contours of her body, of their wet and wild tangle of tongues.
His hot mouth was moving down her neck toward her breasts, kissing, licking, biting. She rose up with a whimper as he suckled her breasts. And then arched into him, offering more. He responded as if he was devouring a piece of ripe fruit. And she wanted to be devoured.
Through their moans, kisses, and short panting breaths, Ivar registered the sound of brush rustling, followed by violent coughing. “Anders,” Ivar growled. Obviously, the man didn’t value his own life. He’d kill him for this interruption.
Emma froze beneath him. Her eyes fluttered open. “What is it?”
“Captain Ivar,” Anders called out, keeping his back to the couple. “Two riders approach.”
Ivar’s murderous thoughts trebled.
“Please! My clothes!” Emma hissed.
Ivar rose, releasing a lungful of curses. He snatched her tunic and robe from the branch where they were hung to dry, pulled on his own shirt and tunic, and reached for his sword. The riders, however, were soon identified as Lars and Budic. Lars was first to dismount.
The Wolves of Brittany Collection: A Romance Bundle Books 1-3 Page 19