Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  And then all logic and reason vanished.

  She leaned toward him, even as she uttered a wordless sound of denial. His hands tangled in her hair. And all at once their mouths came together in a deep kiss, a heated joining that held no restraint, no gentleness, only hunger and longing.

  The first taste of her set Hauk ablaze with need. Need that should have stopped him. Should have made him release her.

  But her lips were impossibly sweet beneath his, as full and lush as he had imagined from the moment he met her. As he had dreamed. He slid one arm around her back. Her hands closed on his bare shoulders, but she did not try to push him away.

  Instead she melted into his embrace, the low sound in her throat filled with need that matched his. She held onto him as if the world had shifted beneath her feet.

  He crushed her closer, sensations flooding through him, all of his senses flaring to life. She smelled of woodsmoke from the fire and the lingering scent of some spicy perfume. Tasted of feminine sweetness and a salty trace of the sea from the meal they had shared. Her cloak had fallen open and he could feel every inch of her body, so lithe and soft against his. Her breasts flattened against the muscles of his chest. Her nipples hardened to pearls beneath the thin fabric of her shift, the fragile garment all that separated his bare skin from hers.

  A groan wrenched from deep in his chest. But even as he angled his head, urging her lips to part, his mind struggled for sanity. For control. He should not... he had not intended to...

  Her lips parted, letting him inside her—and he was lost.

  He thrust his tongue against hers, plundering the satin of her mouth. She returned his passion in full measure, moaning, her tongue meeting every stroke, her hold on him so fierce that her nails marked his skin. Her response sent a blade of heat lancing through him. Her sensual fire was just as unpredictable and bold as everything else about her—and he had never experienced anything so intoxicating in all the years of his life.

  The restless sounds she made, the feel of her in his arms, the silky taste of her sent him plummeting into a sultry abyss. He wanted more. Now. Her breath, her body, her nearness. Her. Avril.

  His wife.

  Slowly he sank to his knees in the sand, drawing her down with him, his fingers seeking and finding the clasp that held her cloak in place. He unfastened it. The garment slid from her shoulders, landed softly on the sand behind her. She shivered in his arms but did not stop kissing him.

  He shifted his hold on her, cupped one breast, his palm kneading, his fingers possessive. She lifted her mouth from his with a sharp gasp of uncertainty.

  “Avril.” He trailed kisses along her jaw, down the pale column of her neck. “I want you,” he said roughly. “I want you. And you want me.” His voice had become a deep, husky entreaty. “Let me show you how it could be between us.” He nuzzled the sensitive hollow of her throat... lower. “Let me show you.”

  He wrapped one arm around her, urging her to lean back as his other hand cupped her breast, lifting the delicate softness to his mouth. He kissed her through the thin fabric that scarcely veiled her curves—a light touch of his lips across the taut peak, a teasing flick of his thumb that made her breath catch. Then he parted his lips and drew her all the way in, sudden and deep, and all hesitation in her voice vanished in a groan of pleasure.

  He echoed the sound as he suckled her, the fullness so ripe and luscious in his mouth. His pulse thundered through his veins. The hard length of his arousal pressed against the restriction of his leggings. By all the gods, how he needed to be inside her.

  He shifted his attention to her other breast, this time scarcely circling the nipple with his tongue, trailing his fingertips down the graceful curve of her spine at the same time. Her back arched, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Hauk—”

  “Do you wish me to stop?” His breathing was ragged. “Say it. Tell me that you wish me to stop.” He began sliding the fragile garment from her shoulders, peeling the damp fabric away from her breasts, exposing her to the night wind, to his kisses.

  She was perfection in the darkness, her naked skin dusted with cool silver and hot gold by moon and fire. He shaped her breasts in his hands, stroked her nipples with his fingers, teased with tongue and teeth until a string of oaths tumbled from her lips.

  “I... I...”

  “Wish me to stop,” he supplied, since she seemed unable to recall the words.

  Her eyes were shut tight, her breathing harsh, her skin sheened with sweat. And the only word she said was his name, fierce and urgent. “Hauk.”

  He drew her into his arms again and their mouths met in hungering kisses, both of them shaking, the fever between them almost unbearable. He pressed his lips to her ear. “There are many exquisitely sensitive places on a woman’s body,” he whispered, “and a wise husband takes the time to find them all. One...” He nipped a spot just below her jaw. “By...” He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder, easing her down toward the sand. “One.”

  He lowered her onto her back, stretched out above her—and flinched when her thigh pressed against the rigid evidence of his desire for her.

  She froze in his embrace, her eyes opening wide. She blinked as if suddenly awakened from a dream. “Nay! I—”

  “Avril,” he groaned, closing his eyes.

  She fought against his hold. “Nay! Let me go!”

  Her frantic words cut through him, cold as steel—and though her gaze was still dark with passion, her lips swollen from the shared ardor of their kisses, he did not argue with her. He let her go.

  She stumbled to her feet, snatching up her cloak and gathering it around her, backing away from him. “I cannot...” She could not seem to breathe, shook her head wildly. “I cannot stay here!”

  The words came out as a choked sob.

  Then she turned from him and ran.

  Hauk lurched to his feet, almost chased after her, stopped himself. The ocean breeze quickly cooled the sweat from his body and cleared the fog from his senses. By Loki’s dark daughter, what had he been doing? How had one kiss—one kiss—led to so much more so quickly?

  Nei, he did not want an answer to that question.

  He had merely been satisfying a physical need that had become painfully sharp. Showing her the pleasures they might share together. She was his wife.

  Ja, she was his wife—and it was time for both of them to accept that fact.

  He kicked sand over the cookfire to douse it, snatched up his weapons and pack and set off to follow her. There was no need to complicate this difficult situation with any sort of emotional... entanglement. But it was his responsibility to persuade his bride to stay willingly, to please her and see to her happiness.

  And there was no need for them to keep denying their mutual desire.

  Avril’s passionate response to him tonight erased any doubts: She did want him. Just as intensely as he wanted her. He had not been wrong about that.

  But he had gone too far, too quickly.

  As he strode down the beach after her retreating silhouette, he muttered an oath, not relishing the impossible task he faced. With Thorolf missing, he had to watch over his reckless bride more closely, stay with her every moment. But he also needed to allow her time to adjust to her new life, to this place, to him.

  He needed to go slowly. Resist temptation.

  He would simply have to be strong.

  Ja, he thought derisively, unable to take his gaze from her slender shadow ahead of him. As strong as a man parched with thirst trying not to sip from the brimming, sweet, beautiful cup so close within his reach.

  Thorolf stood in the shadows a safe distance from Valbrand’s vaningshus , waiting. Patient. Running his thumb along the smooth glass surface of the slender flask in his hand, he reminded himself that he had worked and planned for this a great many years. Another few hours would not matter.

  Especially if it meant adding sweet vengeance to sweet freedom.

  After his humiliation at the althing, he wanted
the former almost as much as the latter. The vokter had thwarted him for the last time.

  And this time he would pay.

  At last, the woman returned, garbed in a hooded cloak—but Valbrand was only a few steps behind her.

  Thorolf bared his teeth in a frustrated snarl. How like Valbrand to ruin his plans. Again! Just when Thorolf learned that the vokter had unexpectedly left his new bride alone, he unexpectedly returned to her.

  As if he were purposely foiling Thorolf’s plans.

  But that could not be. He could not know. No one knew.

  Thorolf paced restlessly across the grass, gripping the flask. By Kvasir’s blood, if he had to waste one more day on this accursed rock, he would go mad. He was not a sheep, like the others, so satisfied with their placid, peaceful, dull little lives. He was meant for more.

  An entire world of new places and pleasures awaited him beyond the boundaries of Asgard. And he meant to enjoy them all. The elders and the vokter and their laws could burn in Hel for all he cared. He had lived too long under their rule.

  But he would not have to endure much longer. Freedom was tantalizingly close now.

  He literally held it in his hand.

  The thought cooled Thorolf’s ire as he turned to stare at Hauk’s cozy clifftop home.

  Valbrand was always saying he wanted change. And his wish was about to be granted.

  All Thorolf needed was one of the utlending women. That was why he had taken part in the Claiming voyage in the first place.

  He was not about to test his potion himself. Not after failing in the past. He was reasonably certain that he held in his hand the answer that the men of Asgard had sought for centuries. The elixir would bring him wealth and acclaim throughout the world, make him a king. A god.

  Yet there was still a chance, however small, that it might prove to be a deadly poison.

  He meant to find out—with the help of Valbrand’s pretty bride.

  The thought made Thorolf smile. All he had to do was keep his temper in check, and he would succeed. Patience was the key.

  Patience.

  He could wait one more day. Turning, he walked down the grassy hill. He would move his boat and conceal it better, now while he still had the cover of darkness.

  Then he would return here. The vokter could not watch over his bride every second. She would be alone at some point.

  And Thorolf would be here, lying in wait.

  His smile widened. On the morrow, Hauk Valbrand would lose his new wife.

  Chapter 11

  The sun felt glorious after yesterday’s rain. Josette could not help but sigh as she relaxed against a tree, warmed by the shimmering rays, a basket of fresh-picked berries in her lap. A pair of horses grazed a few yards away, and Keldan lay stretched out on the grass beside her, eyes closed, one hand behind his head. He still had traces of dark juice on his face and chest.

  Their morning ride had ended with the two of them picking their breakfast fresh from the fields—and their berry hunt had ended in a laughing berry battle.

  Smiling, Josette popped one of the sweet fruits in her mouth, its taste as refreshing as the breathtaking view from this hilltop. From here, she could see the entire island spread out in an endless, colorful expanse: fields dotted with bright wildflowers, the western forest a rumpled blanket of leafy green; lavender mountains rising in the distance; streams glinting here and there, streaks of silver amid the darker, lush shades of the meadows.

  A gentle breeze warmed her face, rustling the branches overhead. It was so pleasant here. So peaceful.

  So difficult to keep her mind on the task she had been assigned. She was supposed to be gathering information about the island’s location. Avril would be expecting her report tonight, at the celebration in town.

  But thus far, Josette had no useful contribution to make to the captives’ escape plan.

  Feeling guilty, she ate another berry and looked down at Keldan.

  Yesterday’s drenching rain had kept the two of them inside his vaningshus—so it was not actually her fault that she had been unable to carry out her assignment. After all, they could hardly understand each other.

  Although that had not kept them from enjoying a most agreeable day. They had played draughts, and chess, and a game he said was called hneftafl, which involved colored stones and a decorated board. After a leisurely supper, he had worked at his carving and she had fallen asleep listening to the rain and the sound of his deep voice humming a Norse tune.

  When she awoke this morn, she realized he had once again carried her to bed and retreated to spend the night on the floor on the opposite side of the chamber.

  Josette chewed at her lower lip, knowing that this friendly companionship growing between them should make her uneasy. He was still a stranger to her, and as powerfully built as any warrior she had met.

  Yet, despite their language differences, she already felt as if she knew him somehow.

  There was such a playful quality about him. Something so endearing about that hint of a smile that always curved his lips, about his unfailing cheerfulness. He seemed to take such pleasure in making those around him smile, both the people in the town... and her.

  Watching the wind ruffle his black hair and the sun warm his tanned skin, she felt an unfamiliar sensation inside her, like hot ribbons whirling together, all ticklish and shivery.

  Mayhap it had something to do with the fact that she liked him. She had never enjoyed a man’s company so much.

  As if aware of her gaze on him, he opened his eyes. His crooked grin widened.

  Josette felt warmth flood her face, embarrassed to have been caught studying him with such rapt interest. She shifted her attention to the basket of berries in her lap.

  Barely stirring, he picked a tall blade of grass and reached up to tickle her cheek with it.

  “Gress,” he said.

  She did not look at him, but smiled as she stared down into her basket. This was a game they had devised, to teach each other their native languages. “Gress,” she echoed, before translating the Norse word into French. “Grass.”

  “Grass,” he repeated in his thick accent. “Josette...” His voice turned serious as he sat up. “Happy here?”

  She glanced at him, sitting there beside her with a hopeful expression and a blade of grass in his fingers, this gentle Viking who liked to make furniture and hunt berries for breakfast and laugh with her beneath a sun-drenched sky.

  “Ja,” she admitted softly. It was one of the first words he had taught her. “Ja, Keldan. I know I should not be, but I am happy here with you. No one has ever...”

  Keldan looked at her earnestly. She did not know why she kept talking, when he could not understand. Mayhap it was because he could not understand that she felt she could tell him the rest.

  “No one has ever made me feel special the way you do,” she continued, blinking away the dampness that suddenly filled her eyes. “In truth, no one ever had much time for me.”

  She dropped her gaze again, shaking her head. “But I am supposed to be helping Avril. Giselle needs her.” Her throat tightened. “I have to find out from you which direction we will have to sail to get... to get...”

  She felt Keldan’s hand lightly touch her chin.

  “To get home,” she finished, her heart beating hard as he tilted her head up.

  His dark eyes held as much gentleness as his touch.

  “Josette,” he murmured, “home here now. Stay.” He added another word that she did not realize he had learned yet. “Please.”

  Her lower lip trembled. She could not find breath to respond.

  His fingertips slowly glided along her jaw, downward... coming to rest over her pounding heart,

  “Hjerte,” he whispered, taking her hand and placing it in the center of his chest.

  She could feel his heart pounding as fast as hers. Their gazes met and held.

  “H-hjerte,” she repeated, whispering the word in her language as he leaned closer. “Heart
.”

  He kissed her, a gentle brush of his mouth over hers. It was the first time he had ever kissed her.

  The first time any man had kissed her.

  And it felt as warm and sweet and tender as the sunlight that dappled the meadow. He tasted of the berries they had gathered, his lips a soft, intriguing contrast to the muscles flexing beneath her hand, so hard and solid and male. The shivery-hot ribbons spun tight within her, and when he lifted his head all too soon, the sigh that escaped her carried a longing that was new and confusing to her.

  And tantalizing.

  The sound he made was a deeper echo of hers; she could feel it rumble through his chest, could feel him breathing fast and shallow. He dusted kisses over her chin, her nose, her forehead.

  “Josette, home here,” he whispered. “Home. Hjem.”

  Her senses danced like the leaves overhead, warmed by the sun, by his caress, by the yearning in his voice that so matched the feeling inside her.

  And all she could think was that the word for home sounded rather like the word for heart.

  “Ja, Keldan.” She sighed, whispering the word against his mouth as he lay back in the grass, drawing her with him. “Hjem.”

  Avril paced in front of the hearth, examining Hauk’s collection of weapons and entertaining thoughts of mayhem. Floyel’s small hooves clacked on the stone floor as he followed at her heels.

  “Must you do that?” she bit out, halting in her tracks and turning to give him a stern look.

  The little reindeer bleated loudly, his brown eyes large and innocent as he gazed up at her.

  She sighed. “I am sorry.” Bending down, she scratched beneath his furry chin. “Poor little Floyel, I should not snap at you. It is not your fault I have been trapped in here all day.”

  She moved restlessly to the open windows, where late-afternoon sun and warm, fresh air poured in to brighten the chamber. The weather was ideal for exploring, and she had planned to do just that today, to go and find Hauk’s ship. But he refused to let her go riding—or anywhere, for that matter—alone.