Authors: Samantha Holt
He dropped his hand away as though burned and paused to look at her. Her grey gaze connected with his, wide, wary and impacting him like an axe to the chest.
“Do not fear me,” he said gruffly.
“I do not,” she responded quietly.
And through the cloud of fear in her gaze, he saw that she did not. He took her arm again because it was too late now not to sully her gown and eased her away from the bloodied scene. He did not stop until he reached the river’s edge. There he released her and washed away the blood from his blade, hands and face. Before long, the evidence of his deeds drifted away, dispersing into the water as though it never happened. Animals and nature would go after Hattr and Sigurd if Ragni decided not to retrieve the bodies. This would be forgotten.
By everyone except him and Keita. She would remember the violence and the threats. He would recall the time he’d offered up his honour to Ragni and then realised it had not been for him but for her. It had all been for Keita.
By Odin’s beard.
Tender fingers pressed against his shoulder and he glanced behind him to find her there. The sunlight glimmered through her hair. If he had been injured, he would think she was a valkyrie come to take him to Valhalla. Though she was no strong shield maiden, he desired her more than any other women he’d known. This was the sort of temptation that would easily lead him to give up his life.
That thought cleaved through him. Was he really willing to die for a slave girl he hardly knew?
One look into her eyes removed any doubt. That echo thrummed between them again. It spoke of more than desire. He looked away.
“Your arm.” Keita kneeled beside him and tugged at the fabric that had been rent by Hattr’s swipe.
He did not notice the burning sensation until she’d drawn his attention to it. Now he realised the fabric was bloodstained and warmth trickled down his arm. Thorarin waved away her concern but she continued to tug until his tunic and undertunic gave way and the slice could be revealed. He hissed when she scooped a handful of frigid water and poured it over the injury to rinse away the blood. The cut was as wide as his hand and deep—deep enough to reveal muscle and bone. He had received many a glancing blow and survived but this would need stitching and tending so it did not turn sour.
Keita paled but he saw her shoulders straighten. She offered out her arm. “Rip this.”
He scowled.
“My sleeve. Tear it off. It is ruined already and Ragni cannot see these stains.” She pointed to where his bloodied fingerprints marred the wool.
Deep down he wanted to see some mark on her that said she was his. Not blood or bruises but a mark of his passion perhaps. On the inside of her thighs as he made his way up to her juncture to taste her. He’d bite her there, gently at first then when he had her squirming with need, he’d suck and mark her. There would be no doubt he had been there.
Mentally shaking himself, he turned his attention to her sleeve. He would not mark her. He would not taste her. He would see through his revenge and pray she survived his machinations long enough to...
Could he really release her?
He peered into those grey eyes, so hungry for a life better than this. His heart sank low into his gut.
If
she came out of this unharmed, he would have to release her.
Thorarin picked at the seam and wrenched the sleeve from her with ease. He handed it back to her and she coiled the fabric around his upper arm, cinching it tight until sweat pricked on his brow. Once it was tied tight, she startled him by bringing up a hand to cup his jaw. Her fingers caressed his beard and she gave him a smile.
By the gods, what he would not give to see that smile regularly. To no longer see the haunted pain in her eyes and instead to hear her laugh. He could not recall the last time he’d laughed or even smiled with anything other than a false one but he felt his own lips curve into a responding smile. There was nothing to laugh about now but he dearly longed to make her laugh and join her in the revelry one day.
“You are in pain.”
“It will pass.”
“As does all pain.”
He narrowed his gaze at her. What did she know of his pain? How was it she seemed to see through into the very marrow of his bones?
He moved away from her touch, retreated from the sensations she summoned in him. She wavered when he went to stand and he gripped her, his hands sealing over the marks that were already rising on her arms from her treatment. Drawing her to her feet, he skimmed a finger down the bruises and up to where dried blood marked her neck above the collar. He used a thumb to rub away the worst of it and grimaced at the redness beneath the collar. What he would not give to see her without it. A gem like this woman deserved freedom.
“You have my thanks, Thorarin,” she whispered.
“Why? I intend only to return you to your master.”
“Aye, but many would have not bothered.”
He lifted his shoulders. “This deed will prove my loyalty to Ragni.”
He tried to keep the words sharp and cool, even while his gaze skimmed the smooth surface of her cheek and landed on her sweetly narrow lips.
“Your loyalty,” she mused. “I know not what you have to prove but I think you care little for Ragni’s opinion.”
“There you are wrong. His trust is important to me.”
“Because you want to make sure he does not think you a thief.”
Thorarin gritted his teeth. He dropped his hand away from her. “You are the only one who thinks me a thief.”
“Fear not, I would say nothing. I hold no loyalty to Ragni, either, save that I know I am better off in his hands than in the hands of others.”
“I do not doubt you have little loyalty to the man who took you from your home. But you speak of things of which you know nothing. Be careful with your careless words, Keita.”
She took a step closer, restricting the air between them. He felt as though his lungs were burning. He needed to inhale a lungful of air that didn’t hold her drugging essence.
“Why do you fear me?”
“I am a Viking. I am afeared of nothing.”
“Why will you not tell me the truth then?”
“Why do you care for the truth?”
She put a hand to his arm, paused and began to toy with the loose end of the wool. “There is little truth and honesty in my life. The other slaves wish me ill and will tell me nothing but lies. Your countrymen would speak of their deeds in a bid to impress every maiden about. And Ragni knows not how to speak the truth. From you, I would like to hear it.”
He huffed out a breath. The desire to unburden himself burned bright in his chest. He felt it all bearing down upon him like a great weight. Somehow, he knew if he could but unload just one fragment of his deception upon her, she would take it on her willowy form with the strength of a shield maiden and he would feel release.
But he could not do it. Any knowledge of his plans would only put her in danger.
“Would that I could,” he muttered.
“You can,” she insisted and closed the gap farther.
But a slither of air separated them. It felt too much but not enough. Not enough to assuage temptation. Too much keeping them apart. When his gaze locked upon hers, he forgot words of truth or honour. Of lies and deceit. He remembered only her.
With one hand, he hooked her around the waist, with his other, he pushed under her hair and drew her flat to him. Now he knew why he had hated the gap between them. Gone was the fear of temptation, now replaced with deep satisfaction at the feel of her form against him. She fit perfectly, like a missing piece. Her slight intake of breath through parted lips made him want to growl and devour her.
When he lowered his mouth to hers and felt slender arms wrap about his waist, all reason fled. There was only Keita and her soft lips and softer body. Only her breaths in his ears and her tiny whimpers wracking his brain. The world had dropped from beneath his feet and they were up in the heavens, alone and without a care in the world. No longer were they Viking and
thrall
. Here they were man and woman.
He’d been hard since she’d touched him but he’d been able to ignore it until then. Now it throbbed incessantly, growing harder and more painful. His body begged for release but release only with this woman. For a virgin, she matched his kisses well. She had learned from their previous, much-mistaken kiss. But how could this be a mistake?
How could the sweet taste of her, the way she ebbed and flowed with him be a mistake? If this were, he begged the gods, strike him down now and he would know.
But no thunderbolt hit him. Nothing changed. The world remained far away and Keita was still pliant in his arms.
Except she was not so pliant suddenly. Where before her body had been soft and accepting, now it was moving and seeking. Her hips pressed into his. Breasts thrust against his chest. Keita pressed deeper into his kisses and held him tighter. There was no escaping her body, and nor did he wish to. He slid the hand on her back down and cupped her rear. The give of flesh made him groan.
Blood pounded through his skull, not unlike that war drum before. It told him that she was his. It throbbed through his skull.
Claim her, claim her, claim her
.
“Thorarin,” she muttered, his name sounding beautiful to his ears with her accent.
He’d left behind his old name long ago and claimed this one so the taint of his supposed actions would not follow him around. It had been a calculated choice. A way to ensure his old self vanished while he plotted his revenge. Yet with the name on her lips, it truly felt like his.
He wanted to hear it again but next time while his fingers followed the dip of her bare back, the curve of her rear and the sweep of her shoulders. He would worship her like the princess she was. He’d circle her ankles, touch the backs of her knees, bring his lips to the soft flesh of her buttocks. Then he’d turn her over and concentrate on the front, kneading and easing away every ache and pain her life as a
thrall
brought her.
Her hips rocked again, sending a shaft of pleasure-pain through him. He tightened his grip on her hair. She released a low cry but he knew it was not one of discomfort. She felt this as he did. He knew it as surely as the sun would set later that day.
Somehow, he knew this woman like she knew him—to her very bones, to the core of her. It was as though Odin had crafted two people, destined to live separate lives yet they would go through enough betrayal and horror to align them so perfectly with one another.
A hand skimmed his arm, then nails dug in. He hissed in pain but couldn’t bring himself to break the connection. Keita did, however. Disappointment speared him. His aching arousal remained, unable to comprehend the loss of her body. Her small mouth was puffy and her hair messier than before. There might not be any physical evidence of his touch but he suspected it would linger with her. Hers upon his body certainly would. Tonight, in his dark farmstead, alone, he’d recall the taste of her and the way her body wrapped about him. A ghostly shadow of her would remain.
Perhaps it always would.
By the gods, this was not good. He’d touched the untouchable. Thorarin pushed a hand through his hair and turned away. He could not bear to see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts or the desire still simmering in her gaze. He was putting them both in jeopardy. Had the thought that he would die to protect this woman not already settled in his mind?
“I will not touch you again,” he vowed aloud, swinging a glance her way.
She nodded hastily. Keita knew as well as he did this was too dangerous. Her position as pure had to sustain and his as a trusted man was vital.
“Never again,” he told himself under his breath as they began their journey back to the settlement. “Never again.”
Keita made her way to Thorarin’s farmstead as she did many nights. And even though a voice in her mind whispered that it was only a matter of time before she gave into temptation, she couldn’t help but return. While Ragni satisfied himself with bed slaves or slept off his mead, she tiptoed out and took the path up to the old building.
No one paid her any heed. Those who saw her assumed she was intending to bathe and she was careful enough not to give anyone an idea of her direction. The men who did spy her were not as bold as Fleinn. None attempted to bother her for fear of Ragni’s wrath.
So nothing held her back. Really, she could continue walking until she reached the end of the country. No one would stop her. Perhaps Ragni would come after her but she had discovered the land of the Norse was vast and rugged. More so even than her homeland. She could become easily lost amongst the jagged rocks or thick forests.
But of course, there was her problem. The Vikings relied on the slaves lack of knowledge, funds and aid to keep them imprisoned. It was likely she’d die fairly soon after fleeing. She’d tumble to her death or be ravaged by wild animals or be set upon by lawless men. If she survived long enough, she’d die of starvation or exhaustion before finding her way to the ocean.
Nay, what she needed now was patience and strength. Patience to take the time to build up enough funds to purchase aid. She had been stowing away little bits of food that would keep when she could. Soon, she would consider finding a tool to remove her collar. The strength, however, was needed to ensure she resisted temptation.
Every night since her return, she’d thought of Thorarin’s touch, of his deep kiss. She lay awake at night, in spite of her exhaustion, and recalled every moment. Her heart ached for that touch again. To be held and treasured by another human was something her essence screamed for. For some reason, it was Thorarin that eased that ache. She had no doubt no other Viking could do the same.
She eased open the door to the farmstead and stepped in. He sat, as usual, by the fire but now on a long bench. Slowly, he was making this place a home. He’d purchased a wall-hanging and some furs from traders who had passed through that sennight. Warmth flickered across the walls from the fire and highlighted his wearied expression. Since returning with her, Ragni had begun to rely on him more and more. Soon he’d have to lead a raid.
Keita prayed he returned safely.
What foolish thoughts they were that she should be concerned for a Viking’s safety as he robbed others. But they were there, nonetheless.
“You finished the bench.”
He patted it and nodded.
Keita took the invitation to come and sit beside him. All of this was folly. Spending time with him, enjoying his company, dreaming of his kisses. However, she trusted him to have control where she did not. He’d vowed not to touch her again and she believed he would not.
“I carved this too.” He handed her a figurine. It was a woman, not unlike her. She wondered if he’d been trying for her likeness. Her stomach swooped at the idea of him thinking of her as she did him.
“For me to paint?”
“
Já
.”
She smiled her thanks and waved away an offered drink. Keita didn’t need the added warmth of the
ӧ
ll
to muddy her senses further.
Drawing in a breath, she allowed herself simply to be. Thorarin’s presence appealed, certainly, but also his undemanding manner drew her in. He expected nothing from her, no sweet or witty words. He was happy for her to sit with him and she believed he liked the company or else he would not ask her each night if he would see her again.
Here, there were no demands. No one wanted anything of her. Gone were the slaves who hated her, the men who desired her and the
járl
who owned her. For a few brief moments each day, she could exist and nothing more.
“What will you be working on tomorrow?”
“I have to finish the roof. We have been lucky with the weather but I think the rain shall return again soon.”
“That means you will not be able to raid, does it not?”
“
Já
, there is no sense in battling the elements and losing ships.”
She shuddered as she recalled how close to drowning she’d been. When the Vikings had set out to Pictland, she had learned later, the weather had been fine and clear but upon their return a storm had caught up with them.
It had not been down to her that they had survived. She’d never been so terrified in her life and she didn’t think her goddess had heard any of her feeble prayers or else she would have delivered her back home. However, she had to be grateful for the storm that might have drowned many but saved her innocence.
“And you shall lead this raid?”
“
Já
.” He gazed into the fire.
“I find it strange you would offer up your life to increase Ragni’s wealth.”
He turned to her, gaze narrow. “You are insistent that I will not bow down to such a man, are you not?”
“I fail to understand why a man like you would. I do not believe you do it willingly.”
She didn’t mention the stirrings of curiosity surrounding Thorarin’s presence and how quickly he had become indispensable to the
járl
. There were those that said he hoped to gain power, to even unseat the
járl
. If Ragni had heard as much, he paid no heed, but the
járl
was unmatched in his arrogance.
“Is it wrong to wish for a place to live and food in my belly?”
“You are a clever man. You wish for more, I believe.”
He shook his head. “When will you learn there are some things you are better off not knowing?” Thorarin said the words softly and she felt no sting behind them.
“Can I help but be curious about the man who has saved my life not once but twice?”
“Fleinn would not have killed you,” he said dismissively.
Keita lifted her chin. “I would have chosen death rather than be taken by him.”
His gaze arrowed in on her. He shook his head and hooked a thumb under her chin. The move was reminiscent of Ragni’s touch yet she felt none of the crawling sensation that she did with him. Only warmth flourished through her.
“That does not sound like you, Keita. You are a fighter.”
She laughed. “I am no fighter.” She lifted a slender arm to make her point.
“Not in body perhaps, but in heart. You forever talk of hope, remember? Few could hold onto hope in your situation and not have the heart of a warrior. Why do you think the other
thralls
despise you?”
“Because I am treated better.”
“Because you still have hope when they do not. Think you they ever consider their freedom or returning home?”
Keita shrugged. She could hardly claim to know any of them.
“They busy themselves with hating you because they have no hope. Their lives have become nothing but servitude.”
“It is well enough for you to speak of freedom. You have it.”
“Do I?” He gave her a look that told her more than his words.
She was right, she knew it. There was more to his arrival here and the way he had worked his way to becoming Ragni’s most trusted man.
“Why, then, do you stay? What secrets have you that keep you here?”
“They would not be secrets if I told you, would they?”
Keita should not but she couldn’t help but smile at his stubbornness. She was certain he had taken the money, that Ragni’s trust was misplaced. But she did not believe hers was. Now the villagers were angry at their
járl
for he was demanding more money to make up the taxes. Life was unravelling for the
járl
but he only saw what he wanted to.
“You hate Ragni, do you not? I see it sometimes, when you look at him.”
“Do you watch me often?”
“Yes,” she replied honestly.
“I watch you too,” he confessed.
She heard the grinding of teeth. Part of her longed for him to reach over and pull her tight to him. Low down in her body, impatient need pulsed through her. Her mind knew better and she offered no invitation.
“You should leave.”
“I should,” she replied quietly.
Thorarin reached over and put a single finger to hers. He stroked it up the back of her hand and down before twining it with her own little finger. She observed the two digits twined together, one large, one small yet perfectly matched. Her own were nearly as coarse and as rough as his but they looked delicate in comparison.
Somehow the differences between them only emphasised how well they fit together. It would be like that if they lay together she suspected. She had been interested in a few men in her life but never enough to picture what that might be like. Now she could see it all too clearly.
“How can it be wrong to touch you?” he asked, his voice thick and gritty.
Keita couldn’t answer that. It was wrong in so many ways. Dangerous and reckless.
Yet his kisses were the first time in her life she ever felt the world was right. Losing her mother, living with a man who did not love her and sisters who hated her had never been right. Being taken to foreign land was more terrifying than a life with a family who didn’t love her. But being in Thorarin’s arms...She could almost forget the rolling green hills of Pictland.
She glanced into his eyes and even in the firelight, she noted that mossy colour. Perhaps she couldn’t forget them but he gave her that sense of
home
. An idea of belonging—not to someone but with someone.
“Wrong,” she somehow managed to rasp out of dry lips. The word, though quiet, vibrated through the room and wiped away her foolish notions. She eased her finger from his. “I must return to the longhouse. If someone sees me...”
He didn’t say anything, simply turned his attention back to the fire and nodded slowly. Those great shoulders seemed weighted with defeat. Keita wished she knew more of him.
Aye, there were times their souls felt entwined, that they knew each other on a level that could not be explained but she still didn’t understand his reasons for being here, why he had stolen that coin and why he was determined to maintain an important position at Ragni’s side. A man like Thorarin should be leading, not scrabbling for favours from a
járl
like Ragni.
Keita backed out of the doorway, stealing a last glance at his silhouetted figure. Something weighed heavily upon those broad shoulders. The loss of his family? Something else? How she longed to know.
She followed the path to the settlement. Darkness reigned but a few torches remained lit around the buildings. She mostly relied on starlight and her memory to guide her way. She might be wearing another fine gown but she was still barefoot and moving off the path meant a painful journey of rocks and twigs in the soles of her feet. Unfortunately, she hadn’t spotted a particularly large errant stone and had to bite back a cry when her foot connected with it. Pain jarred through her and tears sprung in the corner of her eyes.
Pausing to lean against a tree, she rubbed the bottom of her foot, relieved to feel no blood. She glanced back at the farmstead and ceased rubbing. She scowled. What was he doing now? Against the golden light spilling from the open doorway, she could see him stopping to look around. Then he disappeared back inside briefly only to exit once more. He moved slowly and stealthily until the darkness swallowed him.
Keita wasted no time in following. He was up to something and she wanted to know what it was. Her pace was not as slow as his and she caught up to him quickly. With the help of the stars, she was able to track his large form and slow down so as not to draw attention. He continued through the trees for some distance and though her feet were suffering from their traipse across the forest floor, she couldn’t bring herself to turn back. Curiosity ate deep inside her. She needed to understand this man, regardless of whether she should or not.
Thorarin came to a stop and that was when she spotted it—a carved chest. She knew well enough what it held as she’d seen it on Ragni’s table when the taxes had been gathered. She had been right. He was the thief.
Her heart gave a sickening throb and yet she was almost grateful to be right. It meant he did not really wish to work for Ragni. It meant he did not like her master any more than she did. Whatever his reasonings, taking this money had caused the
járl
a great deal of trouble. There was simply no way Thorarin didn’t intend that.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, unwilling to wait any longer for the truth.
He whirled on her, going for a weapon that he wasn’t carrying. Her heart gave another lurch but she held her ground. This man would not harm her.
“Keita, you should not be here.”
She closed the distance so she could see him better and study the chest he held. There was no doubting it was Ragni’s. “You are the thief, are you not?”
“Return,” he ground out.
“That is the coin, aye?”
“Keita...” This time the word came out like a growl.
“Why do you steal from him, Thorarin? Why take such a risk? Why do you not leave now with his riches? Flee from here and never look back.”