Vanquished by the Viking (2 page)

Chapter Two

His bastard brother had released the hounds on her.

Reinn had not wanted to believe a man who shared his blood could be so cruel, but he had seen the evidence with his own eyes when the gates had opened and a fast-moving shadow of snapping teeth and howling fury descended upon the shore. Gunnar had been raiding and warring for too long, it seemed, having lost some of the humanity instilled in them by their warrior father. With their sire recently in his grave, Reinn had no one to appeal to, which meant he would have to confront his brother.

A feat he did not relish since—if he could not make his brother see the error of his ways—Reinn would have to assume control of the family’s holdings to ensure they were fairly ruled. His days of wandering would be over. He had never craved his brother’s position as first-born, never hungered for the power and responsibility that came with being the eldest.

But neither could he witness the growing brutality of his brother and not act. Reinn had subjugated people for Gunnar to rule. That alone made him responsible for how they were treated.

Now, hours later, he rowed the lightweight
faering
close to the shore as they sailed to the west while dawn broke. Eva slept lightly in the hull of the boat under a fur he’d had in his pack. He’d hung her wet cloak on a spare oar propped to catch the wind. His own clothes had dried quickly, but the memory of being sealed to her in steamy heat, the feel of her soft, yielding body...that powerful sensation would remain imprinted on him forever. He’d gotten a thorough feel of her womanly curves, an armful of passionate, proud female.

Even then he’d known he could not have given her back to Gunnar. But the arrival of the dogs and armed warriors on the beach had made his decision that much easier.

He must be her protector.

Staring at Eva while she slept, he found himself wanting to construct a tent over her to keep out the wind. Though the breeze was mild, he wanted her safe with an urgency he’d never experienced before. She had come to him in his dreams, as if he had known even before she’d hefted a crossbow at his heart that their fates were somehow bound together.

He had kept her protected from Gunnar. But could he keep her safe from the dark yearning that pumped through his own veins? The longer he gazed on her pale cheek and plump rosy lips, the more he feared for his good intentions.

Back on the beach, she had nearly tempted him to kiss her, her gray eyes captivating him while she’d lifted her mouth to his...

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him suddenly from the bedroll of fur at his feet.

Surprised, he noticed that she stared at him through lowered lashes, her head cushioned on one arm.

“You look oddly comfortable for a Welsh noblewoman in the hull of a Norse ship.” He wrenched his gaze away from her, knowing that he dare not stare for too long lest he end up under the fur beside her.

His body stirred at the thought and he scanned the shoreline for any sign of the Cledemutha settlement. He could still drop her off there. Find a noble family who would protect her. But how could he entrust some stranger with this woman who had been through too much already? She would be a profitable captive since his brother would no doubt pay to have her back. Gunnar’s honor would demand she be returned.

“I have slept in worse places, I assure you.” Eva propped herself on an elbow, her glossy chestnut curls tangled from sleep. Her shoulder peeped out from the fur, angled in such a way that he could see the skin at the base of her throat, the soft hollow inviting exploration.

“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 the 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.”