A Viking For The Viscountess (4 page)

Abruptly, she shoved him back, breaking the kiss. Her face flushed and she reminded him, “I have to go back to my son.” She moved as far away from him as she could, and he saw the way her hands were shaking.

Arik moved to adjust the mainsail, then returned to the rudder, turning the vessel to make use of the wind. “Come here, Juliana of Arthur. Hold this steady.”

She eyed him, but he stood firm on his order. He needed her help to steer the boat properly. After a moment, she climbed over the rows of benches until she reached the stern. Her face was pale, her lips swollen from his kiss. “You’ll keep your word to bring me home to my son?”

“Yes.” He stood and held out the rudder, guiding her hands. Juliana sat with her posture straight, not looking at him as she held the wood. She looked as lost as he felt. But he would bring her back to her home and learn whether or not she was telling the truth.

The path of his life had taken an unexpected turn. Never had he been given any reason to doubt his place in Valhalla. But…what if he wasn’t truly dead? What if there was another purpose for him now?

He took his place on the bench, rowing toward the shore. Behind him, she remained silent. He glanced at the woman, and her expression held worry before she flushed at the memory of last night. Unlike Svala, she seemed embarrassed, as if she’d never expected to feel pleasure.

The memory of her passionate moans, the fervid touch of her hands, made him want to toss the oars aside and claim her body once again. But he understood her need to return to her son.

“Who are you really?” she interrupted, when he continued his rowing. “Did Marcus send you?”

“I know of no man named Marcus.” He glanced back and saw the consternation lined upon her face.

“You’re dressed like no one I’ve seen before, and you’re speaking a language that I haven’t heard since my maid, Grelod, taught it to me.” Her fists curled at her hips. “What is it you want from me?”

He pulled the oars against the current, bringing them as close to the shore as he dared. “I might ask the same of you. You tempted me in your arms last night, trying to ensnare me before I could reach Valhalla in Asgard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I nearly drowned last night.”

“Or the gods brought you to me.” He released the oars and stood before her. “Our fates are intertwined, so it seems.”

“No, they aren’t,” she argued. “I’ve been through enough without needing another man to make me into a fool.”

He sent her a dark look. “You should be grateful that I am willing to return you to your home instead of keeping you as my
thrall
.”

She frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but no man will keep me from my son.” There was a cool tone to her voice that held a warning.

Arik moved to the bow of his ship and dropped the anchor near the dock. Juliana let go of the rudder and stood with her shoulders back, walking toward him as if he were her slave instead of the other way around. She reminded him of a Norsewoman, strong in her demeanor.

But she was sorely mistaken if she believed he was going to let her go. Somehow, she was tied to his fate. And he wouldn’t rest, until he learned what his purpose was.

CHAPTER TWO

A
fter the boat was secure upon its moorings, Juliana allowed Arik Thorgrim to lift her to the dock. His hands lingered upon her a moment too long, and his touch made her nervous.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Thorgrim.” She clasped her hands together, trying to distance herself from him, like a proper English widow. Not at all like a woman who had been intimate with a stranger.

The very thought set her cheeks on fire. She still couldn’t believe that the dream had been real. She wasn’t at all a woman of sensual desires. Hadn’t William told her, time and again, what a disappointment she was? The day after their wedding, he’d told her that she needed to respond better to him, to grow aroused simply by looking at him.

But he’d had little effect on her—unlike this man, whose physical form reminded her of a Greek statue. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and she’d felt his ridged abdomen last night. His strong thighs had held not a trace of softness, like a warrior who had come off a battlefield.

His face seemed familiar somehow, and she tried to think of where she might have met this man. Long dark hair hung below his shoulders, and his brown eyes held interest, as if he remembered what they’d done last night. A stubble of beard lined his cheeks, and she thought of the way it had abraded her breasts as he’d licked and suckled her.

The thought sent a thrill through her body, making her respond against her will. No, she couldn’t let herself be seduced again. The sooner she escaped his company, the better.

“Thank you for bringing me home. Now I’ll bid you a good day.” She nodded in dismissal and turned to leave.

“You will go nowhere without me, woman,” came his reply.

Oh won’t I?
She stared at the man, disbelieving that he would have the gall to order her around. But he stepped out of the boat and tied it to the dock. It was a strange vessel, one that resembled a longboat from long ago. She hadn’t seen anything like it. At the prow of the boat, there was a carved female face and a bronze weather vane.

Mr. Thorgrim strode across the dock until he reached her side. She suddenly realized how very large he was. Though she was taller than most women, the top of her head barely reached his mouth. Her eyes made direct contact with his muscled shoulders, forcing her to look up.

He wasn’t dressed like anyone she’d ever seen. His woolen tunic was dun-colored, made in a primitive fashion. He wore darker trousers, a fur mantle across his shoulders, and leather braces upon his forearms. His dark eyes stared down at her with a hunger that made her shiver. He walked onto the shore with confidence, his leather boots striding through the sand. At his waist hung a long sword and a battle-ax. Arik Thorgrim almost reminded her of a…a Viking.

Strange to imagine it.

Her dog, Bartholomew, came dashing from the house, barking when he saw them. Behind him came Harry, but Grelod caught the boy in her arms before he could break free. The older woman’s eyes widened as she spied the man at Juliana’s side.

“Mama!” Harry shouted. “Where were you? And who is that?”

“Your mother went for a walk, as I told you,” Grelod interrupted. “And found someone, I see.” Strangely, the woman didn’t seem at all worried or surprised that Juliana had been gone all night.

“It’s a long story.” She didn’t know how to explain any of it, but it could wait until later. She opened her arms, and Harry came running into them. Relief flooded through her that she’d made it home safely to her son. She lifted him up, embracing him hard until he squirmed to get down. Mr. Thorgrim kept his distance, making it clear that he intended no harm to either of them. And though she ought to be relieved by that, his presence threatened her in a different way. He was so unlike any of the gentlemen she’d ever met—so bold and domineering. It had been all too easy to succumb to the reckless desire he’d kindled, surrendering herself to needs she hadn’t known were there.

“Who is that?” Harry demanded, staring at the man. “He looks like a beggar.”

“Hush, now.” Juliana touched her son’s mouth. “That isn’t a polite thing to say.” While Mr. Thorgrim did indeed resemble a beggar, her son needed to mind his manners.

Harry tilted his head back to stare at the stranger. Thorgrim crossed his arms over his chest as if inspecting her son, in turn. While the man’s expression was unyielding, his demeanor softened in front of the boy. Almost as if he’d remembered a child’s curiosity.

Bartholomew was jumping up, still barking, and the man knelt, resting his palm upon the dog’s head. Immediately, the animal quieted.

“Are you magic?” Harry breathed. He seemed enchanted at the prospect.

“His name is Mr. Thorgrim,” Juliana said. “And he does not speak English.” She touched Harry’s hair and murmured, “Go on now, back into the house.” But her son didn’t move, for he was fascinated by the stranger.

Already she could see that Thorgrim was studying her house as if he believed he ought to stay here with her. She had to dissuade him of that notion as soon as possible. But before she could speak, he reached out to his belt and withdrew a knife. Now what was he doing with that? The iron blade gleamed in the morning sun, and it looked sharp enough to slice through paper. He eyed Harry and then offered him the knife, hilt first.

“What are you doing?” Juliana demanded in his language.

“It is a gift, in thanks for your hospitality. Your son does not have a blade of his own, so I will give him mine.”

“He’s five years old!’ Juliana protested. “He doesn’t need a knife.”

“Then how will he learn to defend himself? Or hunt?” Thorgrim nodded permission, and Harry reached out toward the hilt.

“You will not touch that knife,” Juliana said, pushing it away. The longer she spent time in this man’s company, the more she realized how uncivilized he was. What sort of person would give a five-year-old boy a deadly blade? She knew almost nothing about him, except that he behaved like a barbarian and…and he’d driven her mad with his touch. Almost as if he’d bewitched her into becoming a different woman.

She had to make him leave as soon as possible.

After guiding Harry behind her, ordering him back to the house, Juliana squared her shoulders and faced down Mr. Thorgrim. “I am grateful to you for bringing me home. And I hope you will have a safe journey back to…wherever you came from.”

Her words did not have the impact she anticipated. His face grew shielded, his mouth frowning. “Is there no man to protect your household?”

She stiffened. “I do not need a man to keep my son safe.”

Thorgrim took a step closer. “If you have no man, then I will stay with you this night.” He eyed her damp gown. “For you are not safe without someone to stand guard.”

“You will not.” The words escaped her with more force than she’d intended. “I mean, there is no need. You—”

But he was already striding toward the door, with Harry standing at the entrance. Juliana clenched her arms around her chest, watching over her son. He appeared to be talking to Thorgrim, while the man stood in the doorway, observing the interior of the small house.

She was about to follow, but Grelod stepped in her path. The older woman stared at Juliana and demanded, “Where did
he
come from?”

“He saved my life last night when I was pulled out to sea.” She started to go after the pair of them, but Grelod held her back. A strange expression came over the woman’s face.

“Then he is the answer you’ve been seeking,” the old woman warned. “I can sense the spirits surrounding him. You must keep him.”

Keep him? It wasn’t as if the man were a stray dog. And what did she mean,
the answer you’ve been seeking
? The only answer Juliana needed was a way out of this poverty. And judging from this man’s demeanor and appearance, he was
not
a duke in disguise. More like a beggar who had washed up on shore.

A very handsome, tantalizing beggar, who had known exactly how to touch her last night.

Juliana’s face flushed scarlet when she remembered what she’d allowed this man to do to her while she was dreaming. More and more, she felt as if she’d fallen beneath a spell. Caught up in her dreams, she’d surrendered to his seduction. It bothered her that a stranger would affect her so violently, giving her the greatest sexual pleasure she’d ever experienced. It was the
only
desire she’d ever known, if the truth be told.

No, he didn’t belong here. And the sooner she bid him farewell, the better.

She closed her eyes, shaking off the wayward thoughts. “I have no intention of ‘keeping him,’ as you say.” Juliana stepped past her, toward the door. “I’ll speak with him, and then hopefully, he’ll sail off to wherever he came from.”

As she passed her maid, the matron began muttering under her breath in Norwegian. It sounded as if she was casting a magic spell, for Juliana caught words about a summoning, and something about the moon and the goddess. A chill prickled over her spine, for she
had
sensed an otherworldly moment, a few hours ago.

Juliana opened the door to her house and saw her son standing, pointing to one object after another. “Chair,” he said, pointing to the wooden seat.

“Chair,” Arik repeated. He was listening intently to her son, repeating back every word Harry spoke.

“You said he can’t speak English, Mama,” Harry reminded her. “But I’m teaching him to talk.”

Juliana ignored her son’s declaration and demanded in Norwegian, “What are you doing, Thorgrim?”

“As your son said. Learning your language.” He pointed to several objects around the room and named each one in English. When his hand touched the chair, he moved his fingers over the curved wood. “Did your husband make this?”

She shook her head. “My father did.” A wave of sadness came over her, for his death had come so swiftly. He might have been a humble fisherman, but a wiser man she’d never met. She missed him dearly.

Thorgrim seemed to sense her sadness and offered, “He was skilled.” Glancing around the house, he studied the interior intently, before his gaze fixed upon her son. In his eyes, she saw a storm of emotions. Then, abruptly, he left the house, returning outside.