by Madison Faye
Viking’s Claim
Kilts & Kisses, Book 4
Madison Faye
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Also by Madison Faye
Mailing List
About the Author
Copyright Notice
Copyright © 2019 Madison Faye
Cover: Coverlüv
Photography: Wander Aguiar
Model: Alex C.
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Chapter 1
Tor
The boat sways beneath my feet, surging with the tide as the wind blows across my face. Ahead of us lies the rocky shore and the trees beyond it. My powerful, scarred hands grip the bow, a swell of excitement and hunger roaring through me. My blood blazes like fire through my veins, jaw clenching tight as my eyes pierce the shore. Being me, I can hear the men yelling—orders being barked and the clang of metal swords against shields.
This is the calm before the storm. This is the build-up before the explosive fury of battle. You can breathe the bloodlust on a Norseman’s ship in that moment before the prow hits land and we go jumping over the side to battle.
Except, today, there is no battle. There may be, if things don’t go as planned. But today isn’t about sacking a city, or pillaging a lord’s castle, though I know my men are hungry for it. No, today is about something else. Something more… personal.
Today, I’m taking her, and the rush I feel roaring through my veins at the thought of that is greater than any bloodlust. Greater than the promise of any plunder or prize. More satisfying than any glory or riches.
Today, after weeks of biding my time, and lusting, and craving, and obsessing to the point of madness, I’ll have my prize. I’ll have her in my hands, and once I do, she’ll be mine. I care not if she knows it yet. I care not that she’s currently on her way to be wed to some fancy, soft little prince of a lord. The type of man who trains with a wooden sword but who’s never felt the sting of steel against his shield. The sort of man who’s paid coin for others to fight for him. A man—nay, a boy—who sits back on his father’s riches and glorifies himself as a leader.
I detest a man like that.
But it isn’t hatred that drives me this day. It isn’t vengeance. In fact, it has nothing to do with the soft and pathetic little Lord Chauntleroy.
Nay, today, this is all about her.
My obsession. My claim. My conquest. My forever mate.
I groan, my hands tightening on the bow as my muscles clench and my teeth grind. Just the thought of her and knowing how close I am to having her in my grasp has my blood running hotter. It has my cock thickening to stone beneath my breeches—swelling big and hard, like it knows how close she is. I grunt, lust and adrenaline thundering through me as the boat crests a wave, the spray of sea water misting around me as my eyes blaze into the tree line.
Soon, my little Rhona. Soon.
It was weeks ago, during the wedding celebrations of Lord Hamish Ballentyne and his bride, Una, that I first laid eyes on my little bird. Dungow, Hamish’s cliff-side castle, was never going to be an easy take, but I’ve never been a man to settle for what’s easy. With risk comes glory, and Dungow castle holds the riches of centuries of wealthy lords. Dungow is also legendary for having never been breached, but the wedding was the perfect opportunity to slip some of my men in under disguise of guests or help.
But every battle, no matter how planned, can go either way. And when Lord Ballentyne’s men proved quicker to the defense than I anticipated, it was time to make an exit. After all, glory could be sought another day. With the call to retreat already sounded, I’d gone back into the castle during the fighting for one last search for treasure.
…What I’d found instead was worth more than all the gold and silver in the world. What I’d found instead was her.
Long auburn hair, wide, innocent blue doe-eyes. A button of a nose smattered with freckles. A fierceness in her gaze, even if I could see the fear there when I first stormed into the room to find her alone and unguarded. One look, and I was done. I knew it then, and I know it now. One look, and the battle around me fell away. One look and I was striding across the room, a growl in my throat and a hunger roaring through my veins.
We hadn’t spoken a word, but we didn’t have to. My hands slid around her waist and cupped her jaw. Her breath caught gasping on her lips, and those big blue eyes sparked with something so fierce and untamed as I drew her close, that I knew I was lost.
I kissed her. I tasted those lips. I swallowed her moans. There’d been the sound of what had to be half of Lord Ballentyne’s garrison charging down the hall, and I knew it was time for my exit. And then, just as quick as I’d found her, I left her—the taste of her lips lingering on mine. The memory of her little gasping moan hanging in my ears.
Her name is Rhona Gowen, the daughter of Robert Gowen, one of the lords of the highlands. She’s betrothed to another. And I did. Not. Care. Because laying eyes on her for the first time shook me. Laying hands on her sent me reeling. Kissing her was my undoing.
Weeks later, I caught wind of her being the guest of Lord McAuley, at his wedding to her friend, Ailith Pembrose. I also caught wind of the man Lord McAuley had stolen his bride from setting out to attack his very wedding. I couldn’t care less about the dramas and infighting of Scottish lords, but this battle involved my obsession and the chance of her getting hurt. And that, I couldn’t abide.
Sailing my entire fleet into the middle of the battle that night wasn’t about being a hero. It wasn’t about picking a side and helping Lord McAuley defeat his adversary.
It was about Rhona. It was that weeks after that first sight of her, and that first taste of her lips, my obsession knew no bounds. It was that I knew she was already mine—mine to have, and mine to protect. So, I did, smashing the fleet attacking Lord McAuley’s castle.
…That and sneaking myself inside through a side door and laying hands on my prize once more.
It was the same as the first time—no time, no words. Just one kiss, and one taste of those whimpered moans teasing through my ears and setting me ablaze. I left her with a necklace—a pretty trinket in her eyes, but a claim in mine. A mark. A reminder to her, so she’d know how mine she was. I’d been tempted to just take her right there, over my shoulder and out the same side door. But it wasn’t the time.
Now it is.
Today, my patience, and my waiting is at its end. Today, she’ll be mine.
“My Jarl.”
I blink, realizing how close we are to the shore as I turn at the sound of Bjorn, one of my captains, voice.
“We’re ready.”
“Aye,” I rumble, turning again to eye the shore as my hand goes to my sword. My muscles tighten, eyes narrow, and my grip tightens on the bow. There’s the familiar jerk and crunching sound as the reinforced hull rakes against the rocky bottom of the shallows—the boat lurching with the impact. And then instinct kicks in. Muscle memory from thousands of battles and conquests snaps into play, and I’m snarling as I lunge
over the side of the longboat, landing in the shallow surf and running for the shore, the sound of my men following.
I’ve spent a lifetime making the world fear me and taking from it. Conquering it. Plundering it. Claiming what’s mine to take. But Rhona?
My jaw tightens as my boots hit the rocky shore, the smell of the woods washing over me.
She’ll be my final conquest.
She’ll be the only prize that matters.
She’ll be mine. And if she doesn’t know it yet, she’s damn well about to.
Chapter 2
Rhona
The sulk settles over my face with every bump in the road. Every shudder of the wagon deepens my scowl, and every mile closer we get to a fate I dread has my heart sinking lower and lower.
I’ve been betrothed to Lord Chauntleroy for almost a year now. So, knowing I was going to eventually marry him has been a dread setting over me for quite a while. I’ve had time to try and make peace with it—to convince myself that somewhere in that smug arrogance and overly-primped and coiffed exterior, there’d be a man who could be a true and good husband.
And yet a year later, I’m even less into the idea of Lord Chauntleroy than I was the day I was told I’d be marrying him. And that’s really saying something.
It could be his entitled arrogance. It could be the disdainful way he speaks to those he considers under him, which apparently includes me. It could be the ridiculous fancy clothes he struts around in, or perhaps the disgusting way he’s mentioned every time I’ve seen him in the last year that I’d “better give him a son, and quickly, or he’ll find someone who can.”
Charming, I know.
But it could also be that our wedding date has suddenly been bumped up by a full month. It could be that last night, I was abruptly told that I’d be getting married the very next day, before being hurled into a wagon and hurried on my way to Lord Chauntleroy’s castle—wedding dress and all, to be married this very day, as soon as I arrive. All my plans for having my four good friends Una, Ailith, Catriona, and Iona be there with me when it happens, gone, with no time to even tell them that my dreaded plans have changed for the worse.
But then, there’s something else that could be causing the storm of emotions rolling though my head and my heart. And it’s got nothing to do with Thomas Chauntleroy. It doesn’t even have anything to do with my best friends.
…It has everything to do with him.
The one they call a demon, or the devil. The man most men—the smart ones at least—fear. The dark, brooding, dangerous, terrifying, utterly forbidden and heart-stoppingly beautiful man who barged into my world weeks before and hasn’t left since.
The one who stole that kiss—my first kiss.
…The one who stole my second one, too.
I’m promised to marry the frilly Highland Lord Chauntleroy, but my every thought has been stolen by the most feared Viking marauder in the world.
Tor Odinson. It’s a name that strikes fear into brave men’s hearts. It’s the name of terror and nightmares. It’s the name of the man who’s invaded my very dreams every single night since that first one, leaving me panting and embarrassingly… well, wanting when I wake from them.
My parents and the rest of the world expect me to willingly marry Lord Chauntleroy. God, even I expect it. And yet, I can’t get that huge, hulking, terrifying and gorgeous Viking out of my head. And the harder I try, the worse it gets. My hand slides to my neck, slipping under the high collar of my dress to let my fingers slip over the thing silver chain. They trace lower, following the chain down between the valley of my breasts, where they find the pendant itself—circular, smooth, and covered with runic Norse symbols.
He gave it to me, the second night he stormed into my world. It was the night of my friend Ailith’s wedding to Lord Malcolm McAuley, when his castle was about to be attacked by Lord Carlson, who Ailith was supposed to marry before Malcolm literally stole her away. That night, the full might of Tor’s marauder fleet had suddenly appeared, smashing through Lord Carlson’s forces to win the day. But while everyone else was bemused at the infamously savage Viking coming to “rescue” Malcolm’s castle, I knew the real reason.
…I knew he was there for me.
And when he did come for me, in the middle of the battle, somehow sneaking his way into the castle and to my very bedroom, it was everything I could do not to melt right there in his arms. He’d come billowing into my room like a hurricane, scooping me into his arms before I could say a word and kissing me unlike any kiss I’d ever dreamed of. A hard, bruising, punishing kiss that’d left me breathless and confused and aching for more. He’d slipped the necklace from around his own neck and placed it around mine, and I thought he’d leave without a single word, the same as the first time, before he’d turned and pulled me into his grasp once more, his lips brushing my ear.
“Soon, little bird,” he growled in this deep, smoky baritone that had me whimpering. “Soon, I will come for you.”
I will come for you.
I’d be lying if I said those words haven’t frightened me ever since. But I’d also be lying if I tried to claim they didn’t excite me, too. I’ve told no one about what happened, though my friends have hinted at knowing, especially after seeing the necklace. But even still, it’s my own little secret.
My dirty, sinful little secret.
Except, the fantasy of running off with the savage Viking is melting away minute by minute, the closer we get to Lord Chauntleroy’s castle and my impending wedding. I sigh, looking out the window of the carriage at the passing trees of the forest. I know it’s for the best, even if I hate the idea of marrying Thomas. It’s what I should be doing—marrying a lord, like any other highland girl of my status. And Tor?
Well, perhaps this will finally be the end of my wicked, extremely inappropriate daydreams and fantasies.
With a lurch that shakes me from my thoughts, the carriage comes to a stuttering stop.
“M’lady?”
I blink, turning as the door to my carriage opens and one of my father’s guards pokes his head in.
“We’ll be taking a small break before we continue, if that’s alright.”
I smile, nodding. “Of course, Captain.”
Anything to stall us from arriving at our destination is okay with me.
I step down from the carriage, stretching my legs and taking a deep lungful of the woods around us. I do love being outside—hiking through the woods and exploring. Even if my mother calls it “unladylike.”
Lucky for me, my parents won’t be arriving until later this evening, traveling with a different convoy to Lord Chauntleroy’s castle. I stretch again before I begin to make my way to the edge of the wooded road, poking my head into the tree line.
“M’lady, it might be best to take a guard with you if you’d like to go for a walk.”
I frown to myself before I turn, smiling at the captain.
“Oh, that’s fine, Captain. I won’t be going—”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Lady Rhona.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, thinking quickly instead.
“Captain, I…” I smile sweetly, stepping closer to him. “I actually need privacy.”
He frowns, not quite getting me. “M’lady, I—”
“It’s my cycle, you see,” I sigh heavily, making a face as I shake my head. “My womanly cycle? I need to go clean—”
“That would be fine, Lady Rhona,” the captain stutters out, his face going red. “Do you…?” he frowns. “Do you need assistance?”
I smile as sweetly as I can to cover both the lie about it being my time of the month and my laugh at his offer to “help.”
“No, Captain, I think I’ll manage just fine myself.”
“Of course, of course,” he stutters out again, awkwardly looking everywhere but my eyes as he squares his shoulders.
Men.
“Just don’t go far, m’lady.”
I thank him as I gather my skirts an
d step off the dirt road, stepping into the trees and pushing my way through the branches. There’s a saltiness to the air, and the further I move away from the wagon and horse train, the more I can smell it. Branches tease at my arms as I push my way through, finally breathing easier as I lose myself in the woods. Soon, I know I’ll have to go back, and continue on my way to go marry a man I don’t want. But for now, I can escape, if only for five minutes.
I keep walking, pushing my way through the trees, wandering further and further from the road. I know I’m probably going further than I ought to, but there’s a sense of adventure and a thrill of going off alone. And besides, what could possibly happen? We’re nowhere close to any town, or village, and there’s half a garrison of my father’s guards right back there by the wagons.
I push through the trees, until suddenly, I find myself stumbling out of them and right onto the rocky shore with the ocean rustling against the rocks. I blink, stiffening for moment. The coast has always made me think of Vikings, even before Tor. But I shake my head at my silliness as I step out onto the rocky shore. After all, it’s not like the ocean automatically means Vikings are near—
I stop short, my heart skipping a beat as my eyes land on the dozen longboats sitting at anchor just off the shore of the little inlet I’ve stumbled onto.
Boats with blood-red sails.
…Viking boats.
I need to get back. NOW.
My pulse thunders in my ears and I shiver as I whirl to head back for the trees, and when I do, suddenly, the scream catches silent in my throat.
It’s their eyes I see first—fierce, piercing, hungry eyes, followed by the glint of the steel in their hands. There’s a dozen of them, and as they slowly make their way out of the trees with wild, hungry grins on their faces, I tremble in fear.
Vikings.
I can’t scream. I can’t say a word, or move, or blink, or even think as the group of them advance on me, grinning savagely. The men chuckle, speaking to each other in a language I don’t understand as they move closer and closer. One grabs at his crotch, saying something that brings dark chuckles to the other men. I shiver, shriveling inside, my eyes darting fearfully from one terrifying face to the other as they get closer and closer.