by Ree Thornton
She quelled the longing for his approval that threatened to creep back in and stiffened in his arms. "Father. I am well."
"These savages did not touch you?" His face was grim, as though he imagined her suffering through a terrifying ordeal.
She bristled at his unjust assumption, until she remembered that not long ago she would have thought the same and judged the Vikings unfairly.
"La." She shook her head. "All have treated me kindly."
He pinned her with a pensive stare. "Is this truth?"
She held his gaze and nodded firmly. "Yes. I promise, Father. I have been treated well."
The tension eased from his body as he released a relieved sigh. "I am glad to hear that, but I will feel better when you are back within the safety of the palace."
She pressed two fingers to her temple where her head ached. Her father loved her, but he demanded control of everybody around him and already she could feel the walls closing in around her. The daughter that her father knew would have forgotten the handsome Viking warrior and played the dutiful daughter, but she couldn't be that girl anymore.
Her father spun around as though his word was law and crossed the room to the seat he'd vacated.
She sighed, and then followed him, looking around the hall.
Her father, Valen, and his parents sat at the table with just a few handmaidens serving food, but the room was otherwise empty, empty and soulless without the raucous laughter and playful banter of the Viking clan.
She lowered herself into the chair beside her father. If she couldn't be who she was before, then who was she? She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, glaring at the angular lines of Valen's profile until he turned and looked at her.
He raised an eyebrow.
Her blood boiled. How dare he act as if he had no idea why she was angry? He could keep their secret without pretending that she did not exist. He knew well that his aloof act would ignite her temper.
Valen's eyes flicked to her father the moment the Caliph shifted in his seat and turned to face him.
She held her tongue and watched, curious to see how he would handle this first meeting with her father.
"Jarl Eriksson. Samara assures me she is well, but where are my daughter's companions?"
Valen glanced at his parents. After a hardly noticeable head shake from his father, he replied without rectifying the Caliph's mistake in addressing him with the title he would not officially hold until later in the week. "Many of the women were too wounded to travel here immediately. I have had word from my men that they will arrive soon."
Samara nodded when Ásta looked at her questioningly and motioned at the empty cup on the table in front of her. Valen's words had ignited a spark of hope inside her. Her father would not leave until her companions arrived. There may be time yet for her and Valen to be together.
The Caliph nodded, though it was clear he was displeased with the delay this would cause to his schedule. "Then let us discuss trade."
Samara picked up the cup and sipped at the spiced mead the Vikings drank with the morning meal. Valen had never hidden his desire to negotiate a trade agreement with the Caliph. Even though she was angry with him, she was glad that he was getting the audience with the Caliph that he needed.
Valen inclined his head. "Today I would show you our hospitality. There is time enough for trade on the morrow."
Her fingers tightened on the cup as she stiffened. La! Nobody ever dismissed the Caliph.
His face remained calm, but she saw her father's hands clench beneath the table. When her father rose from his seat, his Haras guards snapped to attention behind them. The Caliph inclined his head, his flawless manners that of a respectful guest.
"Until then, as you suggested, we will make camp in the meadow beyond the wall. Come, Samara."
Her jaw clenched. She debated ignoring his command but eventually rose from her seat and followed. Now was not the right time to voice her displeasure. She lifted her skirts as she walked across the rough stones that surrounded the central hearth, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She could feel Valen watching her. Was his gaze lit with desire now that the danger of her father's watchful gaze was gone? A shiver crept up her spine as she paused and looked back over her shoulder.
He was watching her, but his gaze was vacant and dismissive, as though she was naught but a stranger.
Her stomach dropped. She'd never seen this side to him—here was the ruthless Viking that would rule the Eriksson clan. His cold gaze spoke volumes. Any affection he felt for her had died the moment the Caliph arrived. Hopelessness settled over her like a dark cloud and she turned to leave. Their agreement was over. Valen would never risk losing a powerful ally over a woman. She didn't want to let him go, but he felt nothing for her. She'd been a fool to think otherwise.
Valen shifted in his seat, the screech of his chair scraping on the stone floor making her pause and look closer.
He lounged comfortably in his chair, his expression distant, but his left eyebrow quivered slightly, just as it had when he'd attempted to trick her at Hnefatafl.
He was hiding the truth. Her heart beat faster. He didn't want to let her go either.
Valen kept his clenched fists hidden beneath the table as Samara walked towards the doorway. This felt like when he'd lost Kalda, but worse, much worse. This time Samara wasn't being stolen from him by death and violence, he was letting her go. He would know that she still lived and spent the rest of her days in the arms of another man. He flexed his aching hands.
Caliph Radi al-Abbasid had a commanding presence. He'd stomped into the longhouse in his white robes, flanked by his personal guard of hardened warriors, and pinned him with a stare that would have crushed a weaker man.
"Where is my daughter?" he'd demanded.
Within seconds of meeting the Caliph, Valen knew that the man would go to war for Samara. He would lay waste to Gottland unless he got his daughter back.
"Lulea, find Samara."
As the girl rushed from the room, the tension had left the Caliph's rigid shoulders. That momentary break in the man's regal armor had told him everything he needed to know about the man—he loved his daughter. It would hurt to watch Samara leave, but at least she was going with a man who would love and protect her. She belonged with her family, just as he belonged here with his.
Fortunately, the Caliph had arrived before they'd crossed a line that couldn't be undone. It had crushed him watching her joy-filled eyes widen at the sight of her father, and then dim as she realized what that meant.
When she'd leaned back at the table and stared at him with those amber eyes of hers, he'd forced himself to remain detached, knowing that it was for the best. There was no point delaying the inevitable, it would just hurt them both. Now, his chest was painfully tight as he watched her walk toward the door that would take her away from him forever.
She paused near the hearth, the top half of her body twisting as she looked back at him. Her eyes were sharp and assessing as she searched his face for any hint of the affection that had grown between them, for a sign that he still cared for her.
He kept his expression blank. They'd both agreed that this would stop when her father arrived. She might have changed her mind, but he must honor his deal with her and put a stop to the dangerous game they'd been playing.
Hurt flared in her eyes.
He forced himself not to react. He wanted to leap across the table, take her in his arms, and kiss away the hurt he had caused. She was in his blood now, a part of him, but he knew that the longer this thing between them continued, the more it would hurt her when it ended. And it would end, it had to end.
The air thickened, awareness pulsing between them as she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Then her lips curved upward in a knowing smile and she spun around and disappeared outside.
His plate jumped as he smacked his hand on the wooden tabletop. Blasted woman was entirely too smart—she'd seen straight through him.
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br /> Chapter Thirteen
Samara
Samara weaved through the tables in the great hall and slowly edged her way across the crowded room. The deft fingers of the Caliph's master musician strummed and plucked at the strings of the oud in accompaniment to the evening's entertainment.
She watched her father sway back and forth to the music in his chair at the head table. He was distracted. His attention, along with every warrior in the room, was on his favorite belly dancer, Rahinda, as she twirled and swayed her hips in a seductive dance.
Samara slipped into the shadows and skirted the edge of the room. Now was the time to disappear. The wild revelry would continue all night, and anybody who noticed her absence would think she had retired early.
"Valen?" She placed a hand on his back, ensuring she remained hidden behind a large wooden pillar. For hours, she'd watched him move around the room, pausing to talk and toast with his guests, but once they were finally sated he'd retreated to a corner to watch over the festivities.
His back stiffened beneath her hand, and then he slowly turned to face her.
"I must talk to you." She looked up at him, resisting the urge to remove the orange and yellow veil that hid all but her eyes from him. Before her time here, she'd thought nothing of putting on the traditional veil and gown of her people, but now it made her feel like she was suffocating. She missed the flare of desire that lit his blue eyes when he looked upon her face.
"It is unwise, Samara." His head turned, his gaze drifting to where her father grinned at a woman perched on his lap, feeding him a fig.
"He'll not notice," she whispered. "I cannot leave with this distance between us. Please come meet me away from here."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Where?"
"At the north gate," she said, and then walked away before he could argue, her stomach fluttering as she made her way toward the door. She'd done it. There was no turning back now. It was time to take what she wanted. She wanted Valen to claim her body, she wanted him to show her what it was like to be with a man, and she was going to make that happen…tonight.
"I don't have long. What do you want to talk about?" Valen said when he met her beneath the stone arch of the north gate a short while later.
She grabbed his hand and tugged him along behind her. Now that he was here, she would not give him the chance to change his mind.
"Sama—"
"Shhh," she hushed him. She skirted the shadows of the encampment in the meadow beyond the north gate. Then tiptoed quietly, barely daring to breathe as they passed near the fire where the Haras guards warmed themselves between rotations.
"Samara," Valen hissed. "I can't be here."
She squeezed his hand until her fingers ached, praying he got the message to be quiet. He was going to get them both killed if they were caught. She continued moving through the sea of tents. Nothing would halt her now, not when she was so close.
He tugged his hand from hers. "Samara. Where are we going?"
"Shh." She grabbed a lit lantern from where it hung outside a tent waiting for the occupants to return, and led him to her private tent. She lifted the flap to make an opening.
"Hurry, get in."
He shook his head. "Nei."
Her temper flared. Once they were inside her tent, they'd be safe—nobody would dare enter her private quarters uninvited. She couldn't let his stubborn need to do the right thing ruin everything. She'd learned well from him—she wouldn't play fair tonight.
"It will be worse if they see you."
He backed away. He was going to run.
She risked a glance around the corner of the tent—they were still alone, but for how long? "If we go inside we can talk freely. The guards only roam the camp boundary, and nobody else will return until near dawn."
"But..."
She huffed. She could not let him get them caught. She grabbed his hand again, bent at the waist, and pulled him through the narrow opening and into her tent.
"Samara," he scolded her, and pulled his hand from hers.
She secured the door from the inside, and then ignored him as she stood on tiptoes to hang the lantern from the hook hanging near the doorway.
When she turned to face him, he was touching the fabric that lined the inside of her tent, admiring the elaborate orange and gold pattern that shimmered in the soft light.
Her heart jumped at the sight of him, a tall masculine warrior curiously inspecting the delicately woven fabric.
"It seems your father withheld some of his finest treasures from me in today's negotiations," he said gruffly.
She walked to the large carpet covered in large sheepskin rugs and many large silk cushions. "It was made by the women of a Bedouin tribe that roam the desert. I will see that some are included with the other wares."
He remained still, his eyes following her every move.
"Come sit." She lowered herself onto a cushion with her knees to the side and tucked up behind her, and then patted the cushion beside her.
"Why are we here, Samara?" His brow furrowed as he stared at the sheer white curtains that fell from the ceiling, hiding all but a glimpse of the red mosaic bedcover and matching pillows atop her bed.
Her stomach fluttered. She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. He'd never admit it, but she knew he'd pictured them on the bed together.
"We should not be alone—this is not what we agreed. I thought you wanted to say farewell. I'd not have agreed if I'd known you would bring me here."
"We are here now. Come and sit, so we may talk."
His eyes flicked to the tent opening before he began to move toward her.
She shivered, admiring the muscles of his powerful thighs and the bulge that lay between them as he walked toward her. His body was as hard as carved stone, and much finer even than the much-lauded statues of the god Óðinn that the Vikings worshipped.
Valen lowered himself beside her, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.
"I knew that you would insist on honoring our agreement..." Her heart raced. She wanted Valen to accept what she was about to offer, more than anything she'd ever desired. She shuffled closer to him, until their thighs touched, and then reached out to touch his hair. "...But I am no longer agreeable to the terms."
"What are you saying?" His voice was the rough and raspy growl of a man fighting for control.
She swept her fingers down along his jawline and the soft hair of his beard. "I don't want to stop spending time with you."
His hands clenched into fists and he shook his head. "We cannot. It is too dangerous."
"Valen…" she whispered, letting her yearning hang on that one desperate plea. She inhaled a shaky breath, threw aside caution, and bared herself to him. "You promised me nothing is forbidden. I cannot live my life without ever bedding a man of my choosing."
He jerked back at her words.
She needed to show him that she meant what she said. She reached up and unfastened the gold-and-gem-encrusted clasp that held her veil in place, and then slowly unwrapped the shimmering scarf and let it slide through her fingers and fall to the carpet.
His eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
Good. She had him off balance. Now she had to keep him that way. She reached out and stroked his thigh, feeling the hard muscle tense beneath the fabric. Satisfaction filled her when he shuddered and then hastily brushed her hand away. He wanted her.
"Nei, we cannot. Your father..."
"Shh." Samara pressed a finger to his lips. "All we will ever have are these moments." This was her life and her body, and she wanted her first lover to be him. In her heart, she knew that he would be the gentle and kind lover that she needed. Determined not to let him push her away out of some misplaced sense of honor, she rose up onto her knees, gathered her skirts and straddled his thighs.
A deep growl rumbled from his chest as she lowered herself down over the hard evidence of his desire.
"Nei." His hands wrapped around her waist. He was goi
ng to push her off.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked down into his angst-ridden eyes. She couldn't bear to hear him refuse her. She needed this, needed him.
"I want you," she whispered.
He swallowed hard and blinked, his hands tightening as he hesitated. He was conflicted and likely fighting his own sense of honor and duty, but she could convince him.
"Do not deny me, Valen. I need you, all of you."
She rocked forward, gasping at the wave of pleasure that ignited where her flesh pressed against his thickness. Her blood heated and rushed through her veins like a firestorm, until an uncontrollable shudder wracked her body.
"I know you want me too."
Chapter Fourteen
Valen
As Samara's eyes drifted closed and she rocked backward along his hard length, Valen felt the last of his tenuous resolve shatter. Samara wanted him, and he couldn't deny himself any longer. He had to have her, no matter the consequences.
"Já. I am yours." He grasped her slender hips and pulled her forward.
"Oh…"
He gave a knowing grin at her husky moan. He hungered to lick the sweet taste of her juices from his lips, and feel the silky slide of her skin beneath him. He'd be the first to show her the joys of lovemaking. He would make it good. He could give her that.
He tugged at the masses of yellow and orange patterned fabric wrapped around her.
"Let me." She brushed him away, her hands working quickly to remove the garment and toss it aside, leaving her entirely bared to him.
His cock hardened even more. Óðinn take him now—she was naked and he could see the glistening evidence of her desire. He ran his hands along the smooth expanse of her tanned legs, over the enticing curves of her hip, and up to cup her full breasts. She was breathtaking, the kind of beauty that brought men to their knees. He brushed his thumbs across the tips of her dark nipples and watched them furl into tight buds.
