THE VIKING AND THE COURTESAN

by Shehanne Moore

  “Go on. You must be hungry.”

  She shook her head. Perhaps he had waded ashore with her, her welfare was nothing to him. Anyway she had no desire to deprive a man who appeared to have the appetite of twenty, despite that lean frame, of his food. “No. Really.”

  He tilted his jaw. His sensuous lips curved in the faintest smile. “I was wrong about the helmet, all right? I shouldn’t have shouted. I just—I just never expected to be here, that’s all.”

  All right, so cooking that stupid seaweed frond was a mistake when it leeched these words from him. These lies he obviously felt as comfortable telling as he thought she’d be hearing. Because he never smiled.

  She squared her chin. A gesture destined to remind herself what this was about. Then she forced her best, most winning smile.

  “Did you think I expected to be on an island with you?”

  “No. I don’t. I know this is—”He edged his gaze past her. It narrowed. Narrowed so the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  “What?”

  He leapt to his feet. Actually she barely needed to ask what? The shouts echoing in the amphitheatre of the sky spoke for themselves. They weren’t alone. Maybe they weren’t even on an island for that matter. The guttural tones were things she recognized. The way his brow furrowed was too, if only because he had done it a lot since he woke up.

  “What I worried about . . . that billowing smoke.”

  “What about it?”

  “What I was angry about.”

  He glanced down at the ground. His gaze lit on what had lain there since last night. His belt and more importantly what lay beside it. His knife. “Stay here.”

  “But—”

  He bent. “Just do it. In fact, if I can’t protect you, get ready to run. Do you hear me?”

  “If you can’t what? But . . .”

  He joked, didn’t he? She swung her gaze around. Why there were three of them and she recognized at least one as crew from the Raven, even if that one was so bedraggled, his yellow beard tangled in knots, his clothes seeming to have dried to his body, he could have been a distant traveller from the stars above her head at nights. A traveller even as she was. Ari.

  A hardened inch of stomach muscle appeared as Sin Gudrunsson buckled the belt around his narrow hips. “It may be they just want the seaweed.”

  Want the seaweed? Hardly. Between her legs was more likely. He pushed the knife into his belt. “I’ll do my best to defend you, but after you caused the Raven to sink, I’m not holding my breath.”

  “I’m glad to know my faith in you is about to be justified.”

  “Let’s just see, shall we?”

  He strode forward and she wondered when he did it so purposefully, his shoulders squared, his chin at a defiant angle, if she should she get in behind him? A stupid, stupid thought surely? But he did look wonderful, powerful and commanding, as he held up his hand by way of greeting.

  Not so wonderful when Ari smacked him in the jaw and he flew backwards landing in a cloud of sand. In fact he didn’t look anything at all. Seeing him sprawl there, sludgy waves licking about his ankles, sent alarm spinning up her spine.

  “Get her.”

  Ari’s shout sent it spinning back down. Her heart clenched, such a fist in her chest, she gulped. She turned, glancing behind her. The land was far flatter than she’d have liked but she would never manage that hill and even if she did, there was nothing to say she could hide up there. There must be something else she could do. Something that might save her. Spare her these men’s wrath. She dropped her gaze. Something . . .

  She grabbed the helmet. Her fingertips stung but better scorched fingertips than anything else. Sand. Ashes. She dug a helmet-full. When Ari got the contents in the face, she’d see just how desperate he’d be to touch her. She straightened, holding the helmet close against her chest. Then she took careful aim.

  “Now. Just a minute.” Sin Gudrunsson rose from the sand with a placatory smile on his face, just as she readied herself with the helmet. Not just readied herself. The contents of the helmet flew through the air. She swung her knee back, then forwards.

  “Troll’s teeth.”

  And sank it where she never meant. How did Sin Gudrunsson get there? Bent double in agony? However he’d got there wasn’t really the point. The point was she’d kicked him in places men didn’t like to be kicked. A few fronds of blackened seaweed fronds were unlikely to placate him and make him want to help her. To placate or make any of them.

  She needed to kiss him now. Him and no other. For his sake. For hers. She gripped his shoulders, grabbed his stubbled chin, hauled up his bleeding face.

  “Odin’s sake, Malice. What do you think you’re . . .”

  The words kissing you didn’t quite come out as she’d hoped. In fact they didn’t come out at all. Grabbing the helmet he smacked it off Ari’s head.

  “I’m doing my best, sweeting. You don’t exactly make things easy.” He scrambled to his feet as Ari sank to his knees. “She’s mine. And I’ll kill anyone who puts a finger on her. I’ll fight them too.” The helmet thudded in a cloud of sand at her feet. He jabbed his elbow in Ragmoose’s face. “Next?”

  “Then gaze upon your destiny you stubborn son of a swine-head.” Ari’s cheek collided with the sand, his eyes spinning in their sockets. Her heart lurched. Dear God, she could smile to herself all she liked over these words about the killing then the fighting, about Ari groaning on the sand, if she didn’t do something, there would be killing. And not just that—if it was just that, would her throat knot in this ridiculous fashion? Wouldn’t she be able to stand another advance on her heart?

  But she couldn’t.

  That was when she knew what she must do. And how.

  “Why the Freya fanged hell couldn’t you have just done what I said? That’s what I want to know.”

  He carefully shifted his gaze from the scorching midday sun, trying not to wriggle too noticeably against the leather belts pinning his arms to his torso. They needed to escape, but the last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of Ari. Ragmoose, or Gunkel. This was every bit bad enough. Why make it worse?

  “I did.”

  Like Frigga, she had, or his body wouldn’t ache in places he didn’t know it was possible for it to ache. His nose felt as if it had been broken in ten places and his chin in five at a conservative estimate. There went another drip of blood down his tunic front to join the river that had run down there already.

  And the reason, the reason for this troll toothed mess? Well, that, that was tied to him. Edge his head back and he’d brush the top of hers, touch that damnable soft hair, he started to wish he’d never clasped eyes on, which was why he wasn’t for edging his head back.

  As for her shoulder blades pinned to his back? How much more did she want from him? Please don’t tell him, it was a kiss. That damnable thing she’d tried pressing on him when he’d been doing his level best to defend her. Her? Who he should have damned well let drown last night. Her. With her beguiling buttocks she’d stuck under his nose this morning. Her. Who he never should have touched last night.

  She cleared her throat. “Are you telling me Ragmoose and Gunkel are interested in me?”

  “Well, I don’t think they’re interested in each other. Were you scared?” Unbelievably when he felt like it, his voice didn’t rise. “Was that it?”

  “It?”

  “Why you stood like a chicken?” He didn’t want to say that you tried kissing me and now we’re tied up because of it although there was no denying things might have been very different had she not. He wouldn’t have been beaten half to death for a start.

  “I . . . Stood?”

  “Expecting me to do all the work?”

  Then there was the no small matter of her throwing that sa
nd in Ari’s face. He might have calmed the situation. But no . . . no.

  “Like a chicken? So? You want me to tuck now? Run up and down the sand, flapping my arms, going –”

  “Keep your troll-toothed voice down.” As for her kneeing his balls . . . “It may have escaped your notice, sweeting, but we do need to work together here.”

  “Really? I should never have guessed.”

  As for her rubbing her buttocks against him . . . He tried savouring the cool of the sea-sprayed breeze blowing over the lapping waves. Then he gave up. He didn’t know about the lapping waves, but the feel of her body was certainly sending burning ones through his. At least his balls were in working order. It was something to be thankful for although he’d far and away have preferred them numb. Lowering his head as best he could, he spat a mouthful of blood onto the sand. “Well, guess now. Because this is an island and the Raven has sunk. Why do you think the three of them are drawing straws over there?”

  “To see which one gets to cook us in the nice big cooking pot they don’t have.”

  Not’s nose, would she keep still? Intense waves of longing suffused his body, flooding his veins, a sensation that bordered on agony when he could do absolutely nothing to relieve it. Why couldn’t Ari and Ragmoose have bound them separately? And what was wrong with her? Whatever she had on under that dress—last night it appeared to be nothing— seemed filled with the ants?

  “It will be you first, sweeting. And not just that. A passing ship does not mean rescue. A passing ship just means another thing we’re at the mercy of. What’s more, I don’t count on these three and us being the only ones here.”

  “Goodness. Have I ever told you what a bundle of laughs you are? Fortunately I can look after myself.”

  Oh he forgot, didn’t he? “And how’s that, Malice? By reciting the alphabet?”

  “No.”

  Damn but she was really starting to annoy him. He gave another tug. These bindings must slacken eventually. Then . . . well, there must be hiding places. He hadn’t even begun to explore this place. “Oh, I forgot. Running that troll toothed Saxon business of yours?”

  “No.”

  “Then what, Malice? It may also have escaped—”

  “I think I know a way to get me out of here.”

  “You think?”

  Wasn’t that nice? She only thought of herself. He lowered his gaze to the silvery sand. Actually, she was the worry. Maybe he didn’t relish being sold in Jorvik or worse, there weren’t any boats on the horizon yet. So if there was a way to get her out of here, the stray details of which he could only grasp, like these same straw ends Ari and Ragmoose were arguing over—never a good sign with Ari—he needed to listen. Now, before they came back over here.

  He’d really thought he could trust Ari. How wrong could he have been? It just went to show in this damnable life, no-one could be trusted. As if he hadn’t known that already when he’d put himself in thraldom. He’d just forgotten it when his mother stole him back again and his uncle insisted it had never happened.

  Still hadn’t he wondered, when he first set out to raid and trade, something he hadn’t relished when he’d been collared himself, what kind of man he might become. Had it become the only master he served?

  The thing was, he’d only ever wanted to be more than he was. He wouldn’t be that, trapped here with her hanging around his neck. “What do you want me to do?”

  Her shoulders tightened. She pushed hard against him. “Well, I think . . . I think if we can just squeeze around. If you could just stand still . . .”

  “I am standing still.”

  “No, no you’re not. You’re . . .”

  Actually, if she didn’t stop jabbing her hips and her buttocks against him, he was going to be squeezing around with a huge erection. Mortifying when they were tied up like this. But he imagined those breasts of hers in that strange lacy bodice he could see skin through, rising above the constraints. He imagined them brushing his back. Imagined? He didn’t need to damn well imagine when they now did just that. The hard points of her nipples and the soft apple-warmth swell of her breasts rocked against him, sending such scorching fire through him, his gaze lost focus.

  With each movement his body tightened until the breath almost died in his lungs. As if it wasn’t bad enough her breasts brushed his back, her hands were at her sides. He knew because when it came to brushing, her fingertips did just that against his buttocks.

  “Malice, are you sure this isn’t some damned game of yours?” He managed—just— to say.

  “Mine? Don’t be so silly. Turn around. Hurry. I need—”

  “Like that time you told Snotra I beat you?”

  Well? He’d never understood this marriage-wrecking business and what she did to ensure it. He imagined it involved all sorts. He imagined if she did not take her tits out his chest and her fingertips off his buttocks, these all sorts were going to happen here and now.

  “Never mind that.” A huff of breath escaped her. In that second she stood stone still. “Are they watching?”

  She was still bent on escape. Thank Frigga for that. He dragged his gaze back into focus and skimmed the outcrop of rocks at the far end of the beach. “No. But I wouldn’t stay here any longer if I were you. Ari’s getting up.”

  “Then I need you to try and squeeze around. Quickly. I’ll help you.”

  Mother of Frigga, by having her fingertips on the hem of his tunic? So the heat of them burned into the backs of his thighs? How the hell was that helping him? He skirted his gaze heavenwards to the gulls circling overhead. What the hell did she intend? To somehow slip these bindings down her shapely hips? Cut? Pull? Unbuckle them?

  If she did, they’d both escape though. Maybe that was what she meant to happen? He squared his back.

  “Malice, if you’re trying to reach the fastening on these belts . . .”

  It must be that. And he had to stop worrying about being aroused, wriggle his shoulders, rock his hips, do what she asked in these tight confines, even if it meant coming hard up against her. His throat dried. As he just had. He only hoped she didn’t notice the rock-solidity of what jammed against her soft stomach. Was that why her stunning eyes, darker than any ocean, widened in her stark white face? Her lips shrunk?

  “No. I’m trying to kiss you, Drottin. So I can get out of here.”

  What? Oh, he did forget about how she could look after herself, didn’t he? Although how he forgot when it had earned him a kicking, was beyond him. Was he tied, not just to a troll but a mad troll at that? One who couldn’t keep her hands off him?

  Breath caught in the back of his throat. His eyes roamed her face, inches from his own. That was presuming he wanted to kiss her.

  “Kiss me?”

  A gust of wind swept him and every muscle in his body contracted in protest, he knew it. He may not know about her kissing him but he wanted to kiss her. The texture of those wildly inviting lips and their exotic taste of forbidden fruit were things he’d been drawn to since the start.

  “Yes.”

  But that wasn’t the point. The point was he’d never heard such sagas. Kiss her and she . . . what? Escaped? How could she escape?

  “Well, go on.” He managed the words as coolly as he could when he certainly wasn’t going to believe it and he even more certainly wasn’t going to do it. What? When Ari was treading through the sand towards them? Risk another beating because he kissed the woman? And give her ideas that he found her lips so irresistible he fought not to curve his own. “I’m all eyes as to seeing how this works when Ari’s sheep dung friends are only over there just waiting for a chance of you . . .”

  “If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. I’ll just kiss one of them the first chance I get. In fact, if you can see your way to moving your way across the sand I’ll do it now.”


  “No, we won’t do it now. Are you crazy? Or just plain stupid? No. Don’t answer that. If you want to kiss anyone, you kiss me. Even if . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ll take the beating. I just don’t see how it helps you escape that’s all.”

  “Well, let me do it and you’ll find out. I . . . I did vanish from your bed, remember?”

  Dragon’s breath. What was this? He was used to three Malices. The unkempt mess he’d first flung over his shoulder and dumped on the Raven who he thought was a woman but wasn’t sure when she lay on the deck of the Raven for days. The sensuous one who seemed to have no honest idea, not just of just how warmly beguiling she was, of how she made primeval longings pound in his brain and blood with the simplest glance of her turquoise eyes, merest action of her shapely body. The one who was quite frankly a pain in his backside. Reciting alphabets. Describing his size. Cooking seaweed in his helmet.

  This one though, this one he’d never seen before. This one he didn’t know if he could look at and survive. This one he didn’t care if he did. This one was so beautiful there beneath his gaze, she didn’t just touch him in places he hadn’t been touched in years, she shocked him into believing her. When she told the biggest load of Norse sagas to ever afflict his eardrums. And not just that, well, the mess his face must be . . . he could understand her hesitation. For the first time in his life, that hesitation didn’t make him feel second best.

  How the hell was that? No-one laid him bare like this. But her eyes were anguished. Lingering. Searing. For the first time they didn’t just cut into his soul, he felt he was looking into hers. It filled him with a tenderness he hadn’t honestly felt in years. Not since Snotra first broke him anyway and he’d felt no good to anyone. He kept his life ordered that way.