Vanquished by the Viking Page 2

  “Your father has not taken proper care of you if that is the case,” he growled, not liking the idea of such a delicate creature sleeping anywhere but a mattress stuffed with feathers beside a warm fire.

  “My father is a hard man and his sons died when they were still young.” Her mouth flattened in a grim line. “I have worked like a son and sometimes I have known harsh punishments for my failings. But I am stronger for it, I assure you.”

  Reinn spat over the side of the boat, disliking the taste this left in his mouth.

  “Is that why you know how to hold a crossbow?”

  “I have led the winter hunts when my father is away from the keep.” She lifted her chin into the salty breeze, as if daring him to suggest this was not a fit role for her.

  He could see her pride and understood now why she chafed at the idea of belonging to his brother. She would not have thrived while confined to hearth and the bedchamber. Possessiveness surged through him at the thought, his fingers gripping the oars too hard.

  “But you have not answered my question,” she prodded when he did not speak. “I asked what you were thinking about when you believed I was still sleeping. You were scowling most fiercely.”

  Had he? Ah, yes. He’d been thinking about tasting her.

  “I was debating what to do with you,” he lied even as he found his attention lingering on those soft, full lips. Cursing himself, he put the oars up and reached for his pack, needing to do something besides stare at Eva.

  They were within the shelter of a small cove where the current would not take them out to sea. They could afford to drift about for a bit without heading off course.

  “Are we stopping?” she asked, sitting up higher to peer toward the shore. “I don’t see the settlement yet.”

  He avoided discussion of Cledemutha since he had not decided what to do with her once they reached the small town on the River Clwyd.

  “Now that it is daylight, I worry about you being seen. Gunnar will have men searching for you. It will be safer to raise a tent about you so you are hidden from sight.” He found the fabric and light supports that fit into holes in the side of the boat. “We can drift for a little while as I fasten the shelter in place.”

  Removing the carved wooden stakes, he knelt on the fur beside her before considering the wisdom of such close proximity. The bedroll was warm from her body heat, her thigh grazing his knee through the thick pelt.

  “How clever,” she murmured, reaching for one of the stakes and running a finger over the etched scrollwork. “The Norse ships are elegant despite their power to strike fear in the hearts of men.”

  “We spend many days at sea.” He fitted a stake in a notch and then took another that she handed him. “Often the boats that are not carved when they leave on their maiden voyage return full of markings from idle men between battles.”

  He reached for the next support, only to find her holding it still, her finger tracing the sinuous body of a snake wrapped about a bare-chested goddess.

  Tugging it from her hand, he saw her cheeks flush pink. Was she a virgin still, given how little her father had sheltered her? Her reaction made him suspect she was an innocent.

  “I see.” She gripped the fur more tightly to her chest while he moved around her to ring her in the stakes. “How can I help?”

  He wanted to suggest she hide under the fur so as not to tempt him with her blushing cheeks and tousled locks, but instead he merely reached for the heavy linen to shroud the small compartment that would give her privacy.

  “It is almost finished. This way no one will see you.” Including him, praise Odin, once he ducked out of the shelter to continue rowing from the opposite end of the vessel.

  Perhaps without the distraction of her lithe body, he would paddle faster and hasten them to Cledemutha where he could find a nunnery. The idea had far more appeal than handing her over to some nobleman who would either collect Gunnar’s inevitable reward for her or would steal her innocence for himself.

  Despite his refusal of assistance, she raised herself up to her knees and pulled the linen taut on one end. The opaque fabric concealed them from anyone who happened to be on the shore, while creating a new kind of privacy. With the pelt at their knees and the linen around them, it was like being in the marriage bed with the drapes drawn to keep out the draft.

  Quiet. Intimate.

  He steeled himself to the draw of her beside him. While he tied off the material on one stake, he kept his eyes firmly on the task and did not heed the subtle shift of her body as she worked beside him. But the gentle response of the boat to their movements only made it more difficult to ignore her. He could tell exactly when she leaned right or settled back on her heels.

  She smelled like cinnamon and spices, as if she had baked something fragrant. The temptation to bend closer, to bury his nose in her chestnut-colored hair, was so fierce he had to stifle a groan.

  Turning on her, he tried to pull the material from her hands to finish the job, frustrated with his weakness when it came to her.

  “Don’t.” She resisted, keeping her hands on the linen. “I’ve almost got it.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her handiwork, observing the efficient knot she was tying. She bit her lip in concentration, her attention absorbed in the task. Who was this strong Welsh princess who could hold a crossbow and valued her independence so highly she would wager it all on a Norse raider?

  “Why did you trust me?” His question surprised him, wrung from the deepest part of himself. But having asked, he found he needed to know the answer. “You said you thought I was a man of mercy. Why?”

  The boat rocked with a gentle wave, the swish of water against the wooden sides the only sound save an occasional squawk of a seabird.

  “I watched much of the battle from the parapets of my father’s keep.” She let go of the knot, her work complete. Settling back on the fur, she hastened to arrange her skirts over her calf where a hint of dark stocking revealed the shape of her leg. “I wanted to fight too, but my father’s men refused to provide me with weapons.”

  She made a dismissive sound, as if the slight still angered her.

  Reinn wanted to return to the Welsh stronghold to thank those men for keeping her safe.

  “If you watched the skirmish, you know how it was fought. What business would you have among my men who wield a sword with ten times your strength?” He shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if she’d gone up against the invaders. Or worse, him. What if he had felled this dark beauty before even getting to meet her?

  “I have less might but ten times their passion,” she countered. “I had my home to fight for. What did they battle for? A few pounds of gold? The gem-encrusted cross that hung upon my mother’s crypt? What meaning did that have to them?”

  Her anger lashed him, her gray eyes stormy behind a sudden sheen of tears. For a moment, he imagined the damage she might have done with a sword in her hand and he wondered if she could indeed have taken down a man or two.

  “I am sorry.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “We honor our dead by sending them out to sea, so my people do not always understand that they rob your ancestors when they take spoils of war.”

  She studied his hand on hers for a long moment and soon Reinn followed her gaze to his fingers wrapped around hers, engulfing her. His thirst for her grew as he imagined covering her body with his. Claiming her.

  It would be so easy here in this shelter, in a cove where they could steal a few hours without anyone knowing. Her vein jumped lightly beneath his fingers, her heartbeat fast as a rabbit’s.

  “Thank you,” she said, finally acknowledging him. “I am not sure your brother regrets his deed, but...thank you.”

  He released her, fearing that his offer of comfort would turn carnal if he was not careful. Instead, he reached for t
he wineskin to offer her refreshment.

  She accepted it and took a hesitant sip.

  “So you were on the parapet,” he prompted. “You must have witnessed atrocious things.”

  Not even hardened warriors were immune to the horrors committed on the battlefield.

  “Yes.” She gave a tight nod as she handed him back the wine. “But I also saw you fling aside the sword of a boy who had joined the battle. He’s a villager’s son and tall for his age, but he had just turned twelve summers.”

  “Aye.” Reinn recapped the drinking container and leaned into one of the stakes he’d just erected, trying to maintain some distance while his hungry eyes devoured her whole. “Something about his unshaven face,” he remembered. “I could not strike a blow.”

  “I saw none other show such mercy. I thought, if you would do thus for a boy, you might be loathe to hurt a woman.”

  Even then, she’d been calculating her next move. Reinn couldn’t help but admire her. Couldn’t help but envision what a strong mate she would be to the man fortunate enough to have her.

  “My brother is a blind oaf to lose you.”

  She let out a harsh laugh as she stroked an idle hand over the pelt on which she sat. “Lose what? A troublesome maid who can string a bow but cannot run a household? My father has no offers for my hand. He would tell you a blind oaf is the only man who would be willing to wed a woman such as me.”

  Was that bitterness in her voice?

  “Are you eager to be a wife?” A darker possibility taunted him. “Does your heart belong to another man?”

  Eva looked up quickly to search Reinn’s face, hearing the grim stiffness in his tone. His expression was remote. Cool. Was he bothered by the idea she might care for someone else?

  “I have never...” She searched for the right words. “That is, there is no other man for me. No one to come to my defense against this marriage to Gunnar.”

  Except you.

  She realized now that’s what she had hoped. She had not only chosen a man of mercy in Reinn. Had she deliberately picked the one male in their group who might successfully challenge their leader? She’d been privy to her father’s cagey politics for long enough that she certainly understood those nuances.

  Right now though, she didn’t look upon Reinn’s superior size and strength as mere added weapons. Nay. She could only envision herself wrapped in all that warm power. Her body remembered the feel of his from those moments on the beach when he had lifted her into his arms. The feel of a man—of this man—had been a revelation.

  “I’m glad to hear there is no one else.” Reinn’s gaze heated her skin wherever it rested. “But your father has lied to you if he says there have been no offers for your hand.”

  She frowned. “He would not.”

  “Even the most ill-tempered woman in the world is a valuable asset if she will inherit property. And you are far from unattractive. No doubt your father is plagued by ambitious men asking for you. He must simply prefer to have you with him.”

  Would her father have lied to her to make her feel unworthy? Of course. She felt a fool for not considering such deception long ago. Yet, why would her father want her under his roof when he had always thought so little of her?

  “It is just as well,” she said finally, confused about a relationship she had always assumed was very clear. “I have never been interested in...marriage.” She was about to say men, but that wasn’t quite true.

  The idea of males intrigued her and she had fanciful notions of love like any maid, but no warrior had ever intrigued her until she’d seen Reinn that first day on the beach in the skirmish.

  “You have not met the right man.” He spoke with bold certainty, a blatant all-knowing manner that made her bristle.

  “No husband would make me want to throw aside my skills as a huntress to run about his keep and fetch him his ale.” This included arrogant Norsemen, no matter how physically appealing.

  Or noble in battle.

  Although the last part reminded her she could not hate Reinn Geirsson even though he had usurped her father’s throne and robbed her of any chance of a good marriage.

  “A servant can fetch the ale. Wives fulfill a far more compelling role.” He edged closer, icy blue eyes locked on hers. “And you would not have to give up the hunt.”

  He grinned, revealing straight white teeth.

  Her cheeks heated along with her chest and suddenly she felt very alone with him. The sides of the small linen shelter seemed to close in on them, shrinking the space until she could not draw a breath that did not contain a hint of his scent.

  “Insolent warrior,” she chided, though she was unable to look away from him. “I may be a maid, but I know what you speak of.”

  “You do not know enough,” he returned softly, his hand lifting to cup her chin with a gentleness that surprised her. “Or you would have never sought me out, let alone stepped into a vessel with me with no other protector.”

  She swallowed hard, her throat impossibly dry. “I trust you will not hurt me.”

  “It is not pain you need to worry about, Eva.” He stroked his thumb over her lips, eliciting a shiver. “It’s the pleasure that poses all the threat.”

  Chapter Three

  As the temperature soared in the shelter, Eva began to understand Reinn’s warning. There was pleasure to be had here, between the two of them. She’d been too inexperienced to understand why her skin prickled when he was near or her heart beat faster even though she was not afraid of him.

  There was a connection. A force that pulled them together.

  She felt it now as his mouth hovered close to hers. Her body swayed like a woman caught in a faint, her limbs loose. And she could not deny she wanted to explore the feeling. To understand it as he did.

  “I would not call it a threat,” she said finally, the breeze whistling past the linen walls that shielded them. “Especially when I have known little pleasure. Perhaps you should give me a taste of this and I will decide for myself.”

  The low growl he made in his throat did not frighten her. She liked the way his eyes darkened at her words. Wrapping his palm around the back of her neck, he drew her closer, tipping her face to his.

  When his mouth met hers, she felt a lightning storm of response in her whole body. In a flash, her skin hummed with sensation, her hands reaching for his shoulders. Her breasts ached and tightened. Stars winked behind her closed eyes.

  His mouth was soft against hers, although the rough stubble of some days’ worth of beard abraded her cheek and her chin. But the sensation was not unpleasant. She wanted more of it. Much more.

  When he did not increase the pressure, she levered back sharply.

  “I have decided,” she told him firmly. “I will experience this pleasure—threat and all.”

  His fingers speared through her hair at the base of her scalp, sending ripples of awareness down her spine.

  “You are a warrior to the last,” he whispered. “Do you never stand down when threatened?”

  “I have no wish for battle,” she assured him, smoothing her hands over the leather of his garb and feeling the great heft of his shoulders. “Far from it, I think.”

  When she slipped a palm beneath the leather to the fine linen tunic beneath it, she felt the tension melt from his sinew and she sensed a different kind of victory. He claimed her mouth again, this time with a new intensity that captivated her. She forgot about exploring his rough-hewn muscles and savored the slide of his lips over hers until his tongue coaxed entrance there.

  This kiss was demanding. She found herself wrapping her arms about his neck to hold herself upright, her body going suddenly boneless in the onslaught of Reinn’s sensual attention. Soon, she was dragging him down to the fur pelt in the bottom of the boat. Or perhaps he guided her there.
They moved as one so that she could not tell who led and who followed. But all at once they were of a single mind in the pursuit of this heated pleasure.

  He pressed her lightly to her back, still not covering her. His lips held her down, yes. But he kept his body to one side, perhaps letting her acclimate to this kind of closeness. She felt the boat shift subtly with their movements. They seemed to have come to rest in the cove, one side of the faering lightly bumping a sandy bank or soft shore. When she levered an eye open briefly, she could see high tree branches edging into her view of blue sky.

  Mostly, she saw Reinn’s face bent over hers, his gaze dark as a churning sea. Behind her, the fur tickled through her garments, cradling her. And though the kiss was bone-meltingly sweet, she began to see how it was also like a battle. He retreated. Conquered. His tongue claimed more and more terrain until she wished only to succumb. There was no fight in her. Only sweet accomplice. Eager surrender.

  They continued that way until she found she needed more. Craved the weight of his body on hers. She understood then that he knew exactly what he was doing, taking his time to win the skirmish nobly rather than press his advantage.

  “I have raised the white flag,” she murmured between kisses, her hands returning to his tunic to explore the warm strength of his body. “You must claim more. These are spoils I freely give.”

  “Eva.” He lifted his head to assess her, still keeping his body to one side of hers. “I am the one who loses the battle. If we take this further, there is no going back.”

  She understood that he was trying to protect her innocence. Yet why would she wish to save it, only to have it wrenched away from her by a brute she never wanted to wed? Or, if she sought shelter at a nunnery, she would have only the regret of never knowing the pleasure of a man’s touch.

  “As a woman, I have had too few choices. But I choose this. Now. With you.”

  He nodded once, accepting.