To Tempt A Viking (8 page)

His conscience berated him for even thinking such a thing.
Elena and Styr had waited a long time for a child. She wanted it desperately and
regardless of the jealousy within him, he hoped all would go well. ‘I’m going to
go look around the shore to see if there are any ships,’ he told her. He needed
a few moments to clear his head and remind himself that he had to forget about
this woman.

‘All right.’ But after he took the crutches, Elena turned back
to her work as if it were the most fascinating task imaginable.

Though she behaved as if there was nothing wrong, he saw the
dark flush against her cheeks. There was a barely discernible change in Elena,
as if she, too, sensed that the next few days were going to test their
honour.

Chapter Eight

S
he dreamed of him that night.

In her vision, the fires of a battlefield raged, while the scent of death hovered around them. Bodies littered the ground and the carrion birds swooped overhead. The Viking warrior rode towards her, searching. His helm covered his face and his armour was stained with the blood of his enemies.

He was like a god of war, coming to claim her.

The warrior’s eyes locked upon her as he rode through the carnage. He reached down and Elena went willingly, knowing that she was his prize of war.

Her heart pounded when he drew her up in front of him on the horse. From behind her, she could feel the iron muscles of his chest, the powerful thighs surrounding her legs. His body held the caged restlessness of a predator, and he rode hard across the field, taking her miles away from the battle.

Until they were alone.

The small thatched hut was hardly any shelter at all, but when she went inside, hot coals glowed in the hearth. The air was warm with anticipation, and his cold eyes stared at her with unfettered lust.

‘Remove your clothing.’

Fear balled in her throat, along with the need to refuse. But before she could speak, he turned his back and removed the iron helm, then his chainmail corselet and gloves.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of his bared skin, for she knew why she was here. What he wanted from her.

Elena turned towards the fire, her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.

‘Obey me,’ came his husky voice.

In this place, she belonged to him. She was his to command and she revelled in the desire to be conquered, like a slave for his taking. Elena reached to her shoulders and unfastened the heavy golden brooches, setting them aside. She took off the long apron and then loosened the ties of her gown. Beneath it, she wore nothing at all.

His hands came up from behind her, helping her until the gown hung upon her slender frame. Her body was burning with need, for she knew this man well. She ached for him, wanting to be touched. Knowing the dark pleasure he would give.

Her gown pooled to the dirt floor, baring her flesh to him. He didn’t speak, but she felt the warm caress of his kiss upon her shoulder while his hands glided over her delicate skin.

She closed her eyes, welcoming the sensation. The heat and aching lust were burning within her skin, making her wet for him.

He cupped her breasts and against her bottom, she felt his erection pressing. He was still wearing his leggings and she dared to speak. ‘Take them off.’

In response, he gripped her breasts tighter, flicking his thumbs over the hardened nipples. ‘You don’t command me,
søtnos
.’

His strong arm held her in place, his right hand stroking and tormenting the nipple until she was heavily aroused. His left hand moved down, over her stomach, down between her legs. ‘You don’t ever tell me what to do.’

He was punishing her, she realised, when his hand slipped between her legs. With his fingers, he found the wetness, sinking two fingers inside her while he used the heel of his hand in a rhythmic pressure.

She was dying against him, her body yielding and craving him. He pinched a nipple, driving her higher with excitement until she was so desperately close to the edge.

Abruptly, he drew away, leaving her starving for his touch.

‘What do you say to me?’ he demanded.

‘I— Forgive me,’ she begged. She needed his hands upon her and his mouth. Her body was quaking for him, wanting to be filled by this warrior. She craved his hot shaft piercing her with a relentless penetration.

But he gave her nothing at all.

And when she turned to see his face, Ragnar’s eyes glared down at her.

* * *

‘Elena.’ Ragnar heard her cry out in her sleep and she was trembling violently. ‘Wake up.’

He couldn’t tell if it was a nightmare or something with the baby, but he moved beside her, reaching out.

But the moment he touched her shoulder, she let out a moan. ‘Please.’ Her breathing hitched and he was taken aback when she gripped his hand and pulled it around to her breast.

She was still dreaming, but the moment she felt his hand upon her, she let out another cry and shuddered like a woman finding her release.

And just like that, he grew hard. He didn’t know what she was dreaming of, but hearing her climax was enough to bring his own arousal.

In his mind, he let out a curse, knowing it was wrong. But for a stolen moment, he drew his hand over her swollen breast, seizing a fleeting touch he never should have had.

He wanted her so badly, it was all he could do not to pull her to her back and lift her skirts. From the deep scent of her skin, she was ready for him. He would sink into her wet depths and bring her to another release.

Ragnar jerked his hand away as if it were on fire. He didn’t know if she was awake or not, but he prayed she wasn’t. What in the name of Thor was he doing? She was likely dreaming of her husband, missing Styr when she’d reached for him instead.

Careful not to wake her, he left their shelter, seeking the frigid darkness to cool his ardour. He drew his hand down to his wound, resting it against the bandage to provoke pain. Anything to fight against the lust she’d conjured.

Staying with her had been a mistake. He couldn’t lie anywhere near her without wanting more. She was, and always had been, the woman he’d dreamed of. He limped forwards, resting his hand against a nearby tree. With slow, deep breaths, he calmed his heartbeat.

No more.

He would not betray his best friend, nor would he give rein to his desires. Elena was not a woman he could ever have. She had joined with another man and was likely pregnant with an unborn son.

And like a fool, he’d kept pining for her. Hoping for what? That she would divorce her husband and seek him instead? It would never happen. Though he’d watched their marriage falter as her barrenness took away her spirit, Styr wanted to make his wife happy. He’d shown Ragnar the ivory comb he’d bought for Elena as a gift, though he’d not had time to give it to her. He’d planned to offer it when they had finished building their new home together.

Ragnar rested his forehead against the rough bark, knowing that it was time to turn from Elena. She had been sent by the goddess Freya to test his limits, to prove his honour.

It was better to stay far, far away from her. And find another woman to love.

* * *

Elena avoided Ragnar over the next two days. He didn’t speak to her at all about the night he’d touched her and it was better to pretend it hadn’t happened. Every time she remembered the dream, she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

For she remembered the way she’d shamelessly taken his hand to her breast. In the darkness, she’d feigned sleep, though she’d known perfectly well what she was doing. The intensity of her own needs had broken through like a raging fire and she’d said nothing of that night. But her body knew that the dream was only a prophesy of what might happen between them if she allowed it.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her. If anything, she should have dreamed of Styr, not this man. Her hand moved down to her unborn child and she walked along the shore, searching for ships. There had been none since the day she’d spied the fishing boat. Elena was beginning to wonder if she’d imagined it.

Her leather shoes sank into the sand while the cool morning wind buffeted her hair. The sun was bright and she shielded her eyes against it, eyeing the grey water for a glimpse of hope.

In one hand, she carried the axe in the hopes that she might find more fallen limbs or driftwood. Although she’d rebuilt a solid shelter for herself and Ragnar, the time stretched on until she realised she needed more tasks to satisfy her. She’d set some snares for hunting, but an even greater challenge was keeping her distance from the man who attracted her.

It wasn’t right and she locked away the feelings, hoping he would never guess them. Once she was reunited with Styr, her sinful thoughts would vanish.

When it was clear there were no more ships, she climbed the hillside back to the clearing. A sound caught her attention, and she turned towards the west. Listening hard, she tried to detect what it was, but now there was only silence. Still, she kept her grip firmly on the axe as she approached their shelter. Ragnar had been sleeping when she’d left at dawn, but from the nearby coals of a fire it appeared that he, too, was awake.

When she reached the trees where she’d build the small lean-to, there came the sound of men’s voices, speaking the Norse language.

Her heart thundered inside her and she
knew
. The raiders had come back for her, as she’d feared. And this time, a trick would not deter them. If she wasn’t careful, both of them would die. She wanted to call out to Ragnar, but was afraid her voice would alert the men. Then, too, they were outnumbered.

Elena remained frozen in place, trying to calm the rush of fear roaring in her veins. Instinct demanded that she run, but that would only draw them to her. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for a means of escape. Hiding was her best option.

But before she could take a single step, a man’s voice called out from behind her. ‘I’ve found her!’

Terror iced within her body, numbing her to this fate. They would try to rape her, beating her until at last they killed her. She had no doubt of it.

She couldn’t stand here and let it happen. There was no way to know where Ragnar was, but she had a weapon in her hands.

And only one chance.

Before the man could make his first move, she spun, swinging the axe. The blade bit into flesh and his battle cry cut off as his life’s blood spilled upon the grass. Elena tore the weapon free, inwardly shaking. She’d never killed a man before, had never had to.

Don’t look
, her mind warned, but her stomach swirled with nausea. The other men emerged from behind her shelter, and when they saw the fallen body of their kinsman, they began to run. All were armed and it was only a matter of seconds before they cut her down; she knew it.

She turned to run, though it was futile. Her lungs burned as she grasped her skirts in one hand, holding the axe in the other. Where was Ragnar? Had they already killed him?

The dull ache within her, the terror at being left alone, was preying upon her courage. She heard the sickening sound of a man’s scream and the thunder of a horse’s hooves.

She reached the edge of the grass where it shifted into open sand. Her footing slipped and she barely corrected her balance before she continued running. Risking a quick glance behind, she saw one of the Norsemen running towards her. In his hand, he carried a long sword and his hands were stained with blood.

Elena’s sides were aching and she couldn’t breathe, but still she ran. The sand slowed her footing, yet she had no choice but to keep going.

Her attacker was going to catch up to her soon. And then he would kill her and her unborn child.

It was the thought of her baby that stopped her from running. She’d waited so long for this child, praying nightly to the gods. If she continued to flee, there was no hope at all. Slowly, she stopped and, gripping the bloodstained axe, turned to face the man. He was catching up to her, despite the weight of his heavy armour. Elena stood her ground, while a cold chill spread through her spine.

She had to fight for her life and that of her child. No one could save her now. Though she suspected Ragnar had begun attacking the men from the other side, she’d seen no sign of him. With both hands, she held the axe steady, waiting for the moment to strike.

The Norseman stopped his running and began to walk, his dark eyes upon her. ‘Did you think you could run, little witch?’

‘Did you think my curse would not follow you?’ she countered as he strode across the sand. ‘Your men are already dead.’

She would have only one chance to kill this man and she could not hesitate. He wore chainmail armour, unlike the others. The axe would not penetrate the chain links.

Her panic began to rise up again, gathering in her stomach, until she felt as if she would be physically ill. She swallowed hard and he took a few swings with his sword.

‘Shall I behead you, witch? Or would that be too quick?’

She kept her eyes locked upon him, though she grew aware of a motion from behind. He lifted his blade, adding, ‘If you run, it will be a slow death. I’ll gut you and leave you to bleed on the sand.’

Elena took a deep breath and waited while he drew back the blade. A split second later, she threw herself to the sand, slicing at his upper thighs with the axe. He made not a sound.

Only then did she see the spear embedded in his back that had pierced his heart. Before he could fall upon her, she scrambled away. Atop the hill stood Ragnar, with another spear in his hand.

Her knees buckled and a rushing noise filled her ears. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Upon the sand, she half choked, trying to inhale a deep breath. In a moment he was beside her, pulling her into his arms. ‘They’re dead. No one will harm you.’

‘Th-there were so many,’ she stammered.

‘I killed four. You took the fifth.’ He gripped her hard against him, stroking her hair. She couldn’t even take comfort from the embrace, for she’d truly believed she was about to die. Though her axe might have made the Norseman bleed out, it was Ragnar’s spear that had ended it.

‘We’re all right,’ he said, helping her to stand. ‘Are you hurt?’

Her legs were still shaking and she leaned against him. ‘N-no.’ She kept her arms around his waist and then remembered his injury. ‘What about you? Don’t you need your crutches?’

‘It hurts, but I can manage without them,’ he said. Whistling to the horse, the animal trotted towards them. ‘We’re going to spend the night here, one last time. And then, in the morning, we’re leaving this place.’

She nodded slowly. Styr wasn’t going to come back this way. Either she’d been mistaken in what she’d seen, or he’d gone to Dubh Linn. ‘All right.’

Ragnar kept his hand around her, but she was so caught up in the residual fear that she couldn’t seem to get warm. Never before had she been so close to her own death. It frightened her past all reason and she couldn’t stop shaking.