‘Because he wanted to defend your honour.’
She winced, for it meant Feann was fully aware that she had given her body to Alarr. ‘You told him about us?’ These past few days, she had been careful to sleep alone to suppress idle tongues.
‘He guessed the truth. I didn’t deny it.’
A sudden fear took hold of her at the thought of them battling against one another. She couldn’t bear to be caught in the middle any more. ‘And you think this will somehow grant you the vengeance you seek? Will you hurt him?’
‘If he doesn’t defend himself, then yes. I won’t hesitate to wound him. We will fight until the other can no longer fight.’ He stared at her, and she saw only distance and ice in his gaze. ‘My honour will be satisfied.’
She didn’t know what to say, but it bothered her deeply that Feann had agreed to fight Alarr. ‘I am glad I won’t be there to see it.’
He reached out to cup her face between his hands. ‘No matter what happens to me, I hope you find the life you deserve, Breanne.’ She memorised the lines of his face, the dark hair that fell to his shoulders, and the piercing blue eyes that were watching her. Never had she felt like this before with any man, as if the rest of the world could fall away.
But until he set aside his revenge, there could be no life for them.
‘I wanted a life with you,’ she confessed. ‘I wanted a husband and a home. Perhaps one day a child.’
His face softened, and he stroked back her hair. ‘You will have that one day. I believe it.’
‘But not with you,’ she finished. She closed her eyes, holding back the rising anguish. Though she did not want to think of it, one of the men she loved would be injured on the morrow. One might die. And yet, both were too stubborn to stand down.
Alarr leaned in and murmured, ‘Will you kiss me goodbye, Breanne? Give me a memory before I fight Feann.’
She didn’t want to, for it would only remind her of the nights they had shared in each other’s arms. Her body ached for his, but she held herself back. In the end, he ignored her silence and claimed her lips.
It was a gentle kiss, coaxing her to respond. His mouth was warm and seductive, his tongue sliding against the seam of her lips. Her body responded with heat and desire, and between her legs, she grew damp. Alarr continued kissing her while he drew her down. He sat upon a low stool and pulled her to straddle his waist. Against her womanhood she could feel his hard length.
Though he did naught but kiss her, she craved more. She ached to have his body inside hers, and she wanted to remember every part of this moment.
He pulled back, and her lips felt numb and swollen. She needed him badly, and her heart raced within her chest.
‘Breanne,’ he said quietly. ‘I want you to know that I never wanted any woman as much as I want you.’
‘Then let go of your vengeance,’ she offered. ‘Leave with me, and turn your back on the past.’
He held her waist, and answered, ‘You know I cannot.’
‘Will not,’ she corrected. ‘You’re making a choice.’
‘I can’t let it go,’ he said. ‘Feann changed me. He took away my ability to fight, and I will have to live with this weakness for the rest of my life. He must pay for what he did to me.’
‘You are still the same man as before.’ She reached out to touch his heart. ‘Your strength of will is greater than any man I’ve ever met.’
‘It does me no good if I lack balance or the ability to run.’ He tightened his grip around her waist. ‘Because of him, I cannot defend you the way I once could. I would never forgive myself if someone hurt you.’
And she sensed that this was the true reason. No matter what she said, he did not believe he could protect her. Rather than try to make the best of his skills, he had chosen to walk away. There was nothing she could do to change his mind.
Instead, she extricated herself from his embrace and stood. ‘You may not believe you are the same man as before. But I believe you are stronger now. I pray that you will abandon this vengeance and leave with me at dawn.’ She bent down and kissed him. ‘Goodbye, Alarr.’
As she left his shelter, her heart broke. But she had no other choice than to walk away from a man trapped by the past, unable to look towards his own future.
* * *
Alarr hadn’t slept at all that night. His furs had felt empty without Breanne in his arms. And though he’d told himself that he had done the right thing, a part of him didn’t believe it.
Breanne had left at dawn, as promised, with the guards her mother had sent. She’d spoken no farewell to him or even to Feann. But as she’d ridden away, it had torn a piece of himself away. The emptiness flowed through him, and he realised that she had given him a gift by leaving. There would be no distractions during the battle, nothing to stop him from fighting with everything he had.
Feann had arranged for the battle to take place at sundown. Alarr had spent the day with Rurik, sparring and preparing for the fight. His brother had said little about the upcoming contest, but there was no doubt that he did not approve.
At twilight, Alarr walked towards the inner part of the fortress. His emotions were calm, and no longer did he fear death. Breanne was gone, and it made it easier to face her foster father. This was the day he had been waiting for, the moment when he would face his enemy and prove that his fighting skills were not lost. Vengeance belonged to him.
In one hand, he held a wooden shield and in the other, his uncle’s sword. Rurik had given him the weapon, and when he held it, the weapon brought back a flood of memories. He remembered training alongside his uncle, watching as Hafr had taught him how to lunge and parry a blow. And he remembered the clang of iron and how his arm had gone numb from the force of each strike.
Watch over me, he prayed to the gods. Let my sword be strong. Let me give honour to my ancestors.
He walked closer, and the memories shifted to the memory of the wedding massacre. He remembered offering the sword to Gilla and her smile as she had handed him another weapon. Her face had been filled with hope, and yet, it had all ended in death.
But the ache in his heart at this moment was not about losing her, he realised. It was about losing Breanne.
She had made a wise choice not to witness the fight. But her absence was a chasm in his chest, an emptiness that filled him with doubts. He knew that he might never see her again, might never hold her. And it bothered him more than he’d ever imagined it would. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. Brave and kind, she saw past his physical scars to the man he was inside. When he was with her, he felt as if he were the man he used to be.
Feann was donning leather armour, and his servant held a large wooden shield with an elaborately wrought-iron boss in the centre. The tangled iron reminded him of serpents, and Alarr was eager to begin the fight. At last, this was the moment he had anticipated, and he intended to win.
The clansmen and women of Killcobar were lined up in a circle, surrounding the fighting arena. Alarr approached, and Feann stared hard at him. ‘Where is Breanne?’
‘She had no desire to watch.’ He gripped his shield and took his position opposite Feann. She had not wanted anyone to know of her departure, but he was confident in her safety. Her mother’s guards would let nothing happen to her.
Feann reached for an iron helm. He held it a moment and asked, ‘What is it you hope to accomplish with this fight, Alarr?’
‘Justice,’ he answered. He knew that wounding Feann would not eradicate the past. It would not bring back his loved ones. But it would make him feel as if he’d done something to fight for them.
Feann’s face remained rigid and unyielding. ‘And I fight for Breanne’s honour. She deserved far better than you.’
Alarr did not argue with the man over that. It was why he had let Breanne go. Feann donned the helm, which covered his forehead and nose, leaving
his eyes, cheeks, and mouth visible.
His brother offered him a helm of his own, but Alarr declined. He wanted nothing to hinder his view of the enemy.
He kept his shield up, his sword at the ready while Feann circled. The older man was wiry, his dark hair greying. A thin scar on his cheek had whitened over time. Alarr waited, never taking his eyes from the enemy.
Without warning, Feann struck, and Alarr deflected the blow with his shield, slicing his blade towards the king’s head. His enemy sidestepped, and the sword met only air. A slight smile tightened Feann’s mouth.
Once again Alarr charged forward and struck, only to come again at a different angle. The king kept circling him, slashing at all different points. He was trying to make him lose his balance.
It was a strategic tactic, but Alarr was careful to keep his footing. The longer he lasted, the more the king would tire.
‘For someone who wanted vengeance, you’re not fighting much,’ Feann taunted. ‘Are your legs bothering you?’
He countered by swinging his sword hard and slashing at his opponent. It felt good to fight, to unleash his raw frustration. Not only because of the wounds Feann had inflicted years ago, but also to avenge the deaths of Gilla and his father. Over and over, he swung. When his sword struck Feann’s shield, he let his mind go empty. The weapon became an extension of his arm, and he poured all his rage into the fight.
Feann renewed his attack, and this time, he used his shield to shove him back. Alarr stumbled, and the king swung his weapon lower. He dived to avoid the blade and rolled through the dirt. Alarr caught the flash of the weapon and raised his shield, scrambling to rise from the ground.
But then Feann’s sword plunged downwards. He tried to avoid the slice, but pain ripped through him as the blade met flesh.
* * *
Breanne dismounted from her horse and trudged towards her mother’s dwelling. She had ridden at a swift pace all morning and afternoon. Her body ached, but she was glad to have reached Dún Bolg. More than anything else, she wanted to fall asleep and forget about Alarr.
She pushed the door open, ducking into the small hut. ‘Treasa?’ she murmured. It was dark inside, save for the faint light of an oil lamp.
‘Breanne?’ Her mother rose and approached with a smile. ‘I never expected to see you. Are you all right? What happened to the Lochlannach with you?’
‘We decided to part ways,’ was all Breanne could say. Her heart was still battered from the loss of Alarr. The ache of loneliness weighed upon her, and she struggled to let him go.
Her mother came to embrace her. She gave no judgement, but only held her in sympathy. For a moment, it felt good to forget about the loss and take comfort in Treasa’s arms. The kindness made it hard to fight back the tears, but she did not want to reveal her feelings.
‘I am sorry,’ her mother murmured. ‘I know how you cared for him.’
I fell in love with him, she wanted to say, but didn’t.
‘It’s hard,’ was all she could manage.
‘Well, I am glad you came back to me,’ Treasa said, embracing her hard. ‘Are you hungry? Have you eaten?’
She was, but the thought of food turned her stomach. When her mother offered a piece of dense, fresh bread, Breanne took it. Though she didn’t truly want to eat, she tried a little, and it did seem to help.
‘I still would like you to visit Clonagh with me, if you will think about it,’ Treasa said. ‘You could see the place where you were born. There are some things that belonged to your father that he would want you to have.’
A sudden tightness caught her suspicions. ‘I thought you were in exile and were not allowed to leave.’
Treasa’s face softened in the lamplight. ‘What I am supposed to do and what I choose to do are not always the same. If I travel with only a guard or two, I can usually visit my people in secret. They are usually glad, because I bring them supplies or do what I can to help. Iasan does not mind, so long as I return within a day, and King Cerball has no need to know. I am only a woman, so what harm is there?’
Breanne thought it was a risk, but if Treasa was only bringing small gifts and then leaving, perhaps it was not so dangerous. ‘I will think about it.’
‘Good.’ Her mother held out her hand. ‘Why don’t you rest for a while? You must be weary from the journey, and there’s time enough to talk about it in the morning.’ She led her to a pile of sleeping furs near the heated stones that provided warmth within the hut. Breanne curled up and closed her eyes. But it did nothing to diminish the longing within her. The familiar scent of wood and straw conjured up the memories of lying in Alarr’s arms.
Had he fought with Feann this night? Was he alive? Silently, her tears fell, dampening her cheeks. Why couldn’t he give up his plans to fight her foster father? It tore her apart to imagine either one of them hurt.
She wanted to believe that he had spared her father’s life, but she didn’t know what he had done. Silently, she wept, wishing she could push aside the raw feelings.
She heard her mother get up and walk outside. Dimly, she heard Treasa speaking to someone in a low voice before she returned inside.
‘I am sending one of my men ahead to Clonagh at dawn, so that our kinsmen will know of our arrival, Breanne,’ she whispered. ‘They will make a place for us to sleep where no one will know we are there.’
Breanne didn’t answer, feigning sleep. Perhaps it was best to return to Clonagh and see for herself what had happened there. She was not about to let Feann arrange a marriage for her—that is, if he had survived the fight with Alarr. Her mood turned bleak as she wondered what had happened to them.
She loved both men, and neither would stand down. And choosing one meant abandoning the other. Because of it, she would have to give up both. It broke her heart, being caught in the middle.
Breanne shifted her thoughts back to Clonagh, and she tried to imagine making a home there. It wasn’t the life she had envisioned, but it was time to make her own choices.
Even if that meant being alone.
* * *
Alarr gasped as the blade cut into his shoulder, but he managed to shield himself before Feann could strike again.
He pushed back against the king’s blows, rising to his feet. Blood dripped down his arm, but he didn’t care. Instead, he poured himself into the fight. His mind blurred, and he used his strength to strike his hardest blows. It was time to end this.
He released a battle cry, using all his strength to catch his enemy off guard. But Feann was a skilled warrior, despite his age. He met Alarr’s blows with his own force. They circled one another, and despite it all, there was no doubting that they were equally matched.
Feann lunged, striking a low blow. But as Alarr sidestepped the attack, he brought his blade to the king’s throat.
Then, beneath his own neck, he felt the cold kiss of metal. Across from him, he saw his brother staring. Rurik shook his head slowly, as if in warning.
‘Enough,’ Feann said. ‘This fight is over.’ To one of his men, he ordered, ‘Bring Breanne to me.’
‘She’s gone,’ Alarr admitted. ‘She left this morn to go back to her mother.’
At that, Feann pressed the blade against Alarr’s throat until blood welled. Alarr answered with his own pressure, never taking the blade from the king’s neck.
‘You let her go back to Treasa?’ Feann said with incredulity. ‘Why would you send her there?’ He drew his blade back, and Alarr did the same. Feann cursed and swung his sword again. ‘She is a conniving viper who will only betray her.’
Alarr didn’t know what the king meant by that. Treasa had appeared harmless, hardly any threat at all. But now, the king’s emotions caused him to fight recklessly, and Alarr seized the advantage. He allowed Feann to rail with his anger, waiting until the right moment to strike. Iron struck iron, and he kept his patience, until the moment
the king crossed his sword, leaning in.
At that, Alarr reached for Feann’s wrist and twisted the sword away, disarming him. With both weapons in his hands, he drew the blades on either side of the king’s neck. It would take only a single blow to behead him.
‘Kneel,’ he ordered.
The king’s men started to surround Alarr, but Feann commanded, ‘Stand down. This is between us.’
The soldiers took a step back, though they appeared ready to fight. Then Feann met Alarr’s gaze. ‘Swear to me you will go after Breanne. Her mother is not to be trusted.’
He ignored the man’s warning and pressed the blades into his neck. ‘I said, “Kneel”.’
‘Swear it first. You must find her and protect her from Treasa.’ The king’s eyes met his, and he said, ‘Breanne is all that matters. You know this.’
There was true fear in Feann’s expression, but it was for his foster daughter, not himself. Alarr didn’t understand why the man had abandoned her, if he truly wanted her safe. Something didn’t ring true. ‘If you care more for her than your own life, why did you not save her when she needed you?’
‘Because I thought Treasa had taken her!’ the king retorted. ‘After I heard she had escaped from Dún Bolg, I searched for them, only to discover that I was wrong.’ He took a breath and knelt. ‘Seize your vengeance and end my life, if that is what you want. I thought avenging Saorla would heal the guilt I felt over her death. But I know it won’t ever bring her back. And it won’t mend the past.’
The king’s words resonated within him. It was true that killing the man would never bring back Gilla or Sigurd. Feann wasn’t even the one who had struck the blow to end their lives. Nor had he begun the fire.
‘If you care for Breanne, then you must save her,’ Feann insisted. ‘Treasa will stop at nothing to get Clonagh—even putting her own daughter in danger.’
He hesitated, and the king met his gaze. ‘Please.’
In his heart, Alarr tried to summon up the resentment and rage he’d felt after losing the ability to walk. He thought about striking Feann down, wounding him so he would know the same pain.
Stolen By The Viking (Sons 0f Sigurd Series Book 1) Page 19
