Forbidden Viking

by Ree Thornton

  "Samara, come here." He motioned her over.

  Hushed whispers of the onlookers fell to silence.

  As she began to move the other men turned to face her.

  A bare-chested stranger holding a sword at his side, one of the flame-haired twins and…

  A strangled cry escaped from her throat. There stood the Viking that haunted her dreams, grinning at her. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her throat as the memory of his fingers squeezing her there came flooding back.

  Ásta's hand pressed into her back and pushed. "Go to him," she hissed.

  Go to whom?

  "Samara?" Valen said, his brow furrowing with concern.

  Everything inside her screamed to run, to put as much distance as possible between her and the monster, but there was no escape.

  "Samara, come here," Valen said, urging her forward.

  Her heart raced as she crossed the room on shaky legs. She skirted the wall, keeping as far away from her abductor as possible, bile rising in her throat as his venomous green eyes stalked her every move.

  He had darkening bruises on his face, and chaffed wrists where he'd been bound, but there was no mistaking the evil glint in his eye. He'd been caught, but not conquered.

  She stopped beside Valen, grateful for the safety she felt in his presence, yet unable to tear her eyes from the threat in front of her. Why wasn't he in chains? Didn't they know how dangerous he was?

  "Your brother raided in Eriksson waters, Siv. We have a witness," Valen said. "Samara was on the ship that was attacked."

  The bare-chested warrior turned to his brother. "Is this truth?"

  Leif kept his eyes locked on her and remained silent.

  "He was halfway to your lands with his haul of women and loot when we caught him. Another twenty witnesses will arrive here soon," Valen continued.

  The air rushed from her lungs at his words. Her people hadn't been sold as slaves. Despite the horrors of what they had endured, they'd lived, and she vowed she would see them safe once more.

  The shirtless stranger's jaw had hardened as he listened to the accusations against his kin, then he turned to her, his expression fierce and demanding.

  "Is this true, woman?"

  Her eyes flicked to his brother. A shiver crept up her spine. She knew that look—it was the warning before the cobra strike. If she spoke the truth, Leif would kill her. Her pulse hammered in her chest. What should she do?

  "Samara." Valen's sharp tone broke through her thoughts.

  She looked up at him in a daze.

  He stood beside her, his feet shoulder-width apart and arms crossed loosely over his chest. His calm demeanor saying he was in complete control, and that she had nothing to fear. He nodded in encouragement.

  She had to do this. If she didn't then he would escape punishment, and that crazed look in his eye told her that he would never stop hunting her. She sucked in a fortifying breath and squared her shoulders.

  "They speak truth." She pointed at Leif with a trembling finger. "He attacked our ship at night, killed all of the men, and stole the women."

  Leif's nostrils flared and his lips pulled back, baring his teeth at her. She couldn't miss the whites of his bulging eyes nor the tension in his corded neck as his eyes threw daggers at her.

  "You will pay for that when you are my wife."

  "La." The denial fell from her lips in her native tongue. "Nei," she repeated so all could understand, her confidence buoyed now that she'd realized he could no longer hurt her. Speaking out against him had sealed his fate. Now he'd be locked away, and she'd never have to fear him again.

  "I would rather die than be your wife. No man shall force me to wed."

  "You. Are. Mine." A shower of spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled.

  "ENOUGH!" Valen roared. "You raided in our waters. Attacked the Caliph's fleet and stole the women, this woman..." He pointed at her. "The Caliph's personal scribe."

  Leif's green eyes narrowed to slits, and then flicked back and forth between her and Valen.

  She froze as she realized her error.

  An evil smirk lit Leif's face.

  Nei. She clutched her rolling stomach. It was over. He knew she had hidden her identity from Valen. Her chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. Leif knew that she was a prize the Viking Jarls would fight over, and if he couldn't wed her, he'd make sure someone did...

  "Is that so, Princess?" Leif rocked back on his heels, as though delighted with the stunned silence in the room.

  "What?" Valen turned to her. "Princess?"

  She squeezed her eyes tight to avoid meeting his eyes. Valen had been kind this last week. She'd been sheltered, fed, and he'd personally seen to her protection. She'd thought he'd begun to soften to her, when last night at dinner he'd conversed openly with her in front of his clan. Now that he knew her secret...

  Leif's elated cackle broke the heavy silence.

  Her head snapped up, her instincts telling her to watch her enemy.

  Leif thrust a finger at her, more spittle flying from his mouth as he threw the final verbal dagger. "She is Princess Samara, the only daughter of Caliph Radi al-Abbasid."

  The watchful crowd inhaled an audible gasp.

  Her heart sank as her deception was laid bare. If she were not so terrified of the vicious man, she would have used her dagger to render him as useless as a gelded bull.

  Chapter Seven

  Valen

  Valen stared at Samara in shock. Even in the dim flickering firelight, he saw her face redden as though burning with the flames of her hidden guilt.

  "Princess?" He felt the backlash of his earlier ale. "Is this truth?"

  Even as he asked it, he knew the answer. Everything puzzling about Samara suddenly fell into place and made perfect sense. The graceful way she carried herself, her reserved and tactful demeanor, her learning that far exceeded any man he knew. She was a princess.

  "Samara?" He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him.

  She pulled away and jutted her chin as she spoke without a hint of remorse. "It is truth..."

  Óðinn! For the first time in years, he'd met a woman he actually wanted and she was a damned princess—a beautiful, infuriating, and untouchable princess. Loki, the trickster, was a cruel and devious god to toy with him so.

  "I am Princess Samara Abbasid."

  He took a step back as his temper flared. She'd lied. She was the daughter of the powerful Caliph that he'd long sought to trade with to secure his clan's future. The notion of bedding the beautiful scribe that had crept into his mind over the last few days shattered into a thousand pieces. That could never happen. It would be an insult to take a woman of such esteemed birth without a marriage agreement, and that could never be for she was not of Viking blood. What would the Caliph think if he discovered that she'd slept in the handmaiden's hut and had worked in the gardens?

  "I apologize for Leif's insolence, Princess, and the insult to your family," Siv said.

  By the gods, what had she been thinking? He threw Samara a chiding look that promised they would have words about her deceit.

  She lowered her lashes as though to hide her shame, but her mouth remained firmly shut.

  As his temper eased he recognized it for what it really was, disappointment that she had not trusted him enough to tell him. Disappointment that after all they had shared and his attempts to protect her, she still thought it safer to hide behind a fragile secret and risk abduction than tell him the truth. He stepped away from her and turned his attention to the one problem in the room he could fix.

  "You will recompense the Princess for her suffering," he said, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

  Siv nodded immediately. "It will be done. In return I ask that you spare my brother's life."

  He bristled. How dare Jarl Gustafsson enter his longhouse and expect a mercy he would never allow within his own! "Nei. He will not escape punishment," he demanded, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room.r />
  "If you want to keep our alliance then you will let me take him when I leave. You have my word that my clansmen will punish him for the shame he has brought us."

  He considered Siv's terms. It rankled him to let Leif go, but Siv had provided an out that would enable him to maintain the alliance with the Gustafsson clan, something he had to consider.

  Leif pushed his brother away. "Nei. She is my prize. I captured her."

  Samara stepped backward, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body against his side. His body stirred. He liked that the little woman sought the safety of his presence. His patience was spent—he wanted this over so he could get Samara alone and question her further. He deserved answers from the princess and he intended to get them.

  "Silence," he roared, and glared at Leif with murderous intent. Then he nodded at Siv. "Take him. If he returns he will die."

  He felt the moment Samara exhaled beside him, and then began edging toward the door. He couldn't blame her for wanting to escape.

  "I want my prize," Leif yelled. "She is mine."

  By the gods, the man was asking for another beating. He almost grabbed the finger Leif was pointing at Samara and snapped it in two.

  "Control him, Siv, or I'll take my payment in flesh."

  "Shut it, brother. You have caused enough trouble." Satisfied his brother would heed his warning, Siv turned back to face Valen with a look of apology. "He'll never sail again."

  Leif tensed, rage flashing in his eyes.

  Valen nodded his satisfaction with the terms. There was no greater punishment than taking away a Viking's freedom to sail the seas. Leif would live out his days far from here, unable to cause further trouble.

  "You will die." Leif attacked, his roar low and guttural like a feral animal caught in a snare as he grabbed Samara around the waist and took her to the ground, their bodies hitting the compacted earth of the longhouse floor with a heavy thud.

  A low garbled scream escaped her lips as Leif wrapped a hand around her exposed neck and squeezed.

  Nei! He lunged forward. He'd kill the bastard.

  Samara's eyes widened, her small hands frantically scratching at Leif's fingers, trying to tear them away.

  "I'll never let you go," Leif screamed.

  He leapt onto Leif's back, wrapped an arm around his neck, and tumbled to the floor, taking Leif with him. He slid his dagger from the sheath at his waist, his eyes never leaving Samara as he lay beneath the giant bucking man. Was she hurt?

  She lay curled on her side, her eyes wide and locked on him. Her chest heaved as she desperately sucked air into her lungs, her fingers covering the red marks on her neck.

  Leif clawed at his forearm, drawing blood in his desperation to remove the limb crushing his airway.

  The man was at his mercy—one twist and Leif would be dead. Or he could just hold him like this until he ran out of air. Should he do it? A shiver crept up his spine as he realized the truth. Leif was crazed and he would never stop hunting and tormenting Samara.

  "She is mine," he hissed in the man's ear.

  "Valen, it will be done."

  He looked up at Siv Gustafsson, noting the man's eyes were now filled with sorrow and resignation. Even Siv knew this needed to stop, now, or Samara would live the rest of her life in fear.

  "It will be done," the man repeated.

  He nodded once and released Leif from his grasp. Siv was a man of honor—he would keep his word.

  Leif rose to his knees, gasping for air, and then took his brother's outstretched hand.

  Siv pulled him to his feet. "Brother," he said, and then in one fluid motion, yanked him forward into his embrace.

  Leif's eyes widened in shock, and a keening moan fell from his lips as Siv's sword thrust deep into his chest.

  Samara gasped as she looked up at them in wide-eyed shock.

  "You left me no choice, brother," Siv whispered, and held Leif upright as the lifeblood drained from his body.

  Valen rose to his feet and helped Siv lay the lifeless body on the floor. He wanted to offer condolences, yet he could not find the right words. What did one say to someone that had just killed their own brother?

  "It is a shame you will not see him in Valhalla."

  "Nei." Siv shook his head, his eyes fixed on his brother's corpse. "I loved him because he was my brother, but he had long been touched by madness. He was a coward that preyed on the weak. He does not deserve Óðinn's honor."

  "Nevertheless friend, I am sorry for your loss." He patted Siv on the back. He would do whatever he could to ease his burden, starting with removing the body from his longhouse. He turned and motioned Ivvàr over. "Take the body to the Gustafsson ship so it can be prepared for the burning."

  Ivvàr nodded and motioned two warriors forward to assist with the task.

  "Get back to work," he ordered those that remained, and then bent and scooped Samara up from where she sat trembling on the floor.

  She uttered no protest as he carried her out the door and across the lawn toward her room.

  Why had he said she was his? He could only hope that none but she had heard his words. It was a foolish mistake uttered in the heat of the moment. Now that he knew who she was, he could never have her. His duty to his clan would not allow it.

  She slid her arms up around his neck and burrowed her ashen face into his chest.

  By the gods, she felt good in his arms. He couldn't help but wonder what games the gods were playing with him. She couldn't be his bride, yet the fates had sent her for a reason. Mayhap she was a blessing of fortune for his clan? The Caliph would surely come to collect his daughter, providing the opportunity to discuss trade.

  He kicked the door to her bedchamber open, turned sideways to enter the small room, and lowered her to stand on her feet.

  "Are you well?" he asked, inspecting the darkening flesh on her neck.

  She swayed in front of him and brushed her tangled hair from her face. "I will be, just some bruising."

  He slammed the door closed behind him and ran a hand through his beard. He winced as he looked around the sparse room with just a bed, an old table, and chair, and a small arched window. It was far from a royal bedchamber.

  "Why didn't you tell me, Samara?"

  She shook her head.

  "Why did you not tell me you are a princess?"

  She pressed her lips together, refusing to talk.

  She was mistaken if she thought she could deny him—he would have answers. She was a princess, she knew that he deserved an explanation and indeed could demand one. Yet he didn't want to force her, he wanted her to give it to him willingly.

  "Samara," he said softly, in the same tone he used to cajole his nieces into relinquishing a favored plaything. "What else are you hiding, Princess? If I am to have any hope of keeping you safe, you need to tell me."

  She put her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed. "I am not daft. I know I am a prize to any Jarl in these lands. You think you can bend me to your will. I bend to no man."

  His nostrils flared. The woman was infuriating. Her own stubbornness could get her killed, or one of his clansmen. He could not allow that. He curled a hand into a fist and beat it on his chest. "I. Am. Jarl. I must know the truth to rule."

  She stepped forward, her furious gaze meeting his own and her finger poking him in chest. "You know who I am, that is enough. My reasons why will stay my own."

  He drew in a slow steady breath. "You will tell me," he said, and advanced.

  She retreated, until she was pressed against the stone wall and his hands rested either side of her head, boxing her in.

  "Tell me," he said gruffly.

  She ducked under his arm and moved out of his reach. "I will not, you overbearing donkey's ass." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, looking every bit like a royal princess.

  He couldn't believe he hadn't seen through her disguise before. Demands were not going to work. It was clear he couldn't force her to his will. In truth, sh
e was only demanding from him the respect that was rightfully hers as the Caliph's daughter.

  He sucked in a slow steady breath and stepped back. "Let me explain."

  "Yes?" She arched a dark eyebrow.

  "By hiding who you are from me, you put my clan and yourself at great risk. If Leif had attempted to recapture you, my people could have been hurt. It is my duty to protect everybody on this isle and you denied me information I needed to do that. If I'd known that you may still be a target, then I would have increased our defences."

  Her arms fell to her sides and she looked a little shamefaced. "I never thought my secret would put your clan at risk. I was afraid. I had just watched all of my people murdered by a Viking."

  He was shocked. He'd known she did not trust him, but it pained him that she thought he would harm her. He backed her against the wall and caged her within his arms again.

  "You thought I would hurt you? Have I not cared for you? Is this why you lied to me?"

  Her expression went blank. "It was not exactly a lie. I am a scribe, and I have worked with my father for many years in his court."

  "Samara…" he growled. He shifted his hands down the wall, reminding her that he had her cornered. Heat built in his body at the sensation of having her so close. This time he wouldn't let her escape until he got some answers. "Why?"

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard and touched her neck where Leif had choked her. "Leif targeted me because I was a princess. If one Viking thought to force me to wed for advantage, then what reason would I have to believe that other Vikings wouldn't do the same?"

  He trailed a finger across the bruising beginning to darken her skin. "I would never do that," he whispered softly. He could feel the hammering of her pulse beneath his fingertips and heard her breath catch at his touch. "Leif was a man obsessed with violence and inflicting pain. I hate to think of what could have happened if you had not escaped."

  She lifted her head defiantly. "I would have lived."

  He smiled gently and nodded. "Já, but Leif would have used you until you broke."