by Lara Temple
Gunnar laughed along with his friend, while privately wondering how much the other warrior had had to drink. ‘It sounds like a description for the woman of your dreams.’
Eylir shook his head. ‘Not I. I want a woman I can share my life with. But I’ve watched you long enough to know what you want—the type of woman who warms your bed when you can be bothered, but who plays no other part in your life.’
Gunnar twisted the goblet between his fingers. It was true he preferred blondes who asked for no more than he was prepared to give. ‘Do you indeed? When I go looking, I will remember your counsel. But I shall require a wife, not a concubine. We can discuss it further the first time you visit me in Jura.’
‘I’m required in the north. It is why I have come to find you.’ Eylir leant towards him, blasting him with alcohol fumes. ‘My younger brother sent word. My sword arm must return north or the family faces destruction. The usual exaggeration, I’m sure.’
Eylir launched into his familiar tirade against familial obligations. Gunnar swirled his ale and listened with greedy ears while he tried not to think about the three snow-covered corpses of his mother and two young sisters before a darkened hut. Families were wasted on those who had them.
‘Family. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to them,’ Gunnar said when Eylir reached the end of his recital.
‘Aye, you spoke true there.’ Eylir gestured with his hand, sloshing ale everywhere. ‘It is why I will provide you with a wife, the perfect wife for your new venture, one you can get sons on.’
Gunnar stood. ‘Your drunken prattling puts our friendship in peril.’
‘Serious.’ Eylir grabbed Gunnar’s arm. ‘You require a northern bride, but you have land to till, a hall to build. You admirably hold fast to the vow you gave to your mother before you departed, the one about only marrying a worthy northern woman. Wasn’t that the excuse you gave that Irish warlord who commanded you to marry his daughter last season? The redhead who gave you hungry glances and had no eyes for anyone else?’
Gunnar tightened his grasp on the goblet. ‘You should know better than to believe what I say in drink!’
‘Same excuse you gave that pretty widow from Bernicia with her many acres of lands. Or one of the dozen other women who have buzzed around you like bees searching for a honeypot. You’ve acquired your land. What excuse are you going to give for failing to travel northwards and find this elusive bride of yours?’
Gunnar instinctively fingered his mother’s stone man. ‘You exaggerate as usual.’
‘Nevertheless, I will send you a Jul present to remember if you win the wrestling competition.’
‘How much Jul ale have you consumed?’
A self-satisfied smile crossed Eylir’s face. ‘I watched you in practice this morning. Peak physical condition. A man would have to be a fool to bet against you.’
‘Then there are plenty of fools. Maurr is the favourite.’
‘Nobody ever called me a fool.’
The wrestling was a high point on the Jul celebration. During the last two seasons, he had made it to the quarter-final and the semi, never to the final. He’d be out in one of the first rounds this year by his best guess.
‘Your gold to waste.’
* * *
His first and second opponents were inebriated and then the next warrior was someone Gunnar personally disliked. And so it continued until he was proclaimed champion.
When he looked over his shoulder as all around him shouted his name, Eylir was there, gesturing with the sack of gold he’d won. ‘Look for your northern bride before next Jul.’
Gunnar allowed the shouts to wash over him. The last thing he needed to worry about was a drunken friend’s idle promise—he had a hall to construct.
Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Styles
ISBN-13: 9781488047022
The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge
Copyright © 2018 by Ilana Treston
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
