Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1)

by Sky Purington

  “Leave her be, Kjar,” Meyla said as she joined them.

  The Viking’s green eyes went to Meyla before returning to Megan. “Is the king keeping her then?”

  Meyla slipped her hand into Valan’s and shrugged. “As long as he keeps any woman I’d imagine.”

  Megan frowned. Real nice. But not surprising. “Nobody’s keeping me.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Meyla said but didn’t waste time getting into a debate. Instead, she looked between the two. “Megan, meet Kjar, our master boat builder and my father’s cousin.”

  “Master boat builder?” Megan said, unable to keep shock from her voice as she eyed his huge hands. Her eyes shot to his. “Hard to imagine those big mitts could create the masterpieces I saw out there.”

  The only response he offered was a flare of his pupils as he continued to eye her. Then, as if a cloud lifted, both lust and potential anger fled as he flung back his head and laughed. But it seemed Kjar wasn’t into small talk because he turned and sauntered into the crowd.

  “Beast,” Meyla muttered and shook her head. But her exasperation didn’t last long as she wrapped her arms over Valan’s shoulders and kissed him soundly. It appeared neither of them was overly concerned with Naðr’s disapproval. Yet Megan knew Valan would be better off showing the king respect rather than executing such a display with his daughter.

  Megan drank her ale and watched the crowd. Many appeared to be trailing outside. About to follow, she stopped when Meyla put a hand on her arm. “Best that you stay with us for now.”

  “Not a problem,” she replied. “If you two actually talked to me rather than made out.”

  Valan frowned. “Made out?”

  Megan did well not to roll her eyes. “Kiss.”

  Meyla and Valan grinned.

  “Why would you rather we talk to you than kiss?” Meyla asked, truly curious.

  But Valan apparently had a ready answer. “Because she has no one to kiss too, lass.”

  “That’s not what I was getting at.” Megan sighed. “Never mind.”

  Meyla’s eyes roamed the hall. “Uncle Kol is still in here. He’ll kiss you.” Then another grin crawled onto her face. “But my father won’t much like it.”

  “Speaking of your Da.” Valan’s eyes narrowed. “Is he out with the raven then?”

  “Based on the way Uncle Raknar left, yes.”

  Megan frowned as another odd chill passed through her. She needed to see this bird. This time when Meyla tried to stop her, she kept on going. Striding through the partying crowd, she made her way out into the chilled night.

  Torches lined the yard then lit the road and village beyond. And though there were plenty of people about she didn’t have to go far to find Naðr and Raknar. Given a wide birth they were near the outer gate. Raknar leaned back against one side of the exit with his arms crossed over his chest and head bent. The king was on the other side of the gate. Facing toward the sea, his white-knuckled grip held the railing. His head was also bent. But her eyes didn’t linger on either man long. No, all she could look at was what perched on the post between them.

  A raven.

  One identical to that which had visited her back home.

  Megan knew without a doubt. It was her raven.

  The bird cocked its head and stared at her for a long minute before it cried out, flapped its wings and launched into the air. Then, as it had done at home, it flew in the direction of the sea, toward the Viking longship, another loud cry echoing in the wind.

  Chapter Seven

  Naðr crouched, elbows resting on bent knees and stared out over the sea. The sun’s tip had just crested the mountains at his back and spliced over the water in a riot of colors. But he didn’t see the splendor of his homeland nor hear the whispers of the gods as he usually did.

  “You need to claim her or allow the men to have her.”

  Offering no response, he contemplated Kjar’s words as the boat builder leaned against the prow of his ship. Megan had been here three days and though tempted to take her, he kept his distance. “She is my daughter’s slave. No man has a right to her without Meyla’s permission.”

  “The woman appeared when we returned from the best raiding we have had yet.” Kjar yawned and stretched. “She is beautiful and considered a gift from Odin for a good conquering. They grow restless.”

  They did. And they were not to blame. He would do the same in their position. Regardless. “There are bigger concerns.”

  Kjar sat forward and eyed him. “And they will grow bigger yet if you don’t lay claim to the woman.” He shrugged. “Or you could give her to them and be done with the strife that has arisen. It would be a good move, cousin. They will see you as more of a hero than they already do.”

  Naðr knew Kjar spoke the truth, but he remained torn. When the raven came the first night Megan arrived he knew it was a message as readily given as the seers with their stones.

  Always of kindred thought, his cousin said, “But perhaps your heart has already been affected. The woman from the future is strong and now it seems Aesa approves.”

  So it appeared but the situation was difficult nonetheless. Yet his people needed to come before his baser emotions and those were too thoroughly caught between the past and future right now. Which wasn’t good for a man determined to lead.

  “At least be around her. Your mood has been too foul even for me since she first came.” Kjar stood. “It seemed you claimed her then pushed her away. It looks weak for a king unless you do not want her.”

  He stepped off the boat, his gruff words coming from behind. “But no man would not want her so it makes you look the fool.”

  Kjar didn’t wait for a reply but left. Naðr felt the heavy vibration of his boots departing the dock as he continued to stare at the sea. Based on the stirring of his cock even at this moment there could be no doubt that he wanted Megan. And only Loki knew how much. Because his need ran deep and superseded even the desire he’d had for his warrior maiden, his wife, Aesa.

  Naðr closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

  He had promised her he would never love another as deeply.

  Yet the raven came.

  If that wasn’t enough, so too did Rennir. Forever a thorn in his side, the rival king wanted this port, ships, and his warriors. Like Naðr, he hadn’t earned his current position but inherited it. Since then, he focused less on what he already had and more on conquering not foreign lands but those of his fellowmen.

  Frustrated in more ways than one, Naðr headed for the shore. His daughter was likely awake and he needed to speak with her. She and Valan had not been shy with their affection for one another. Yet it had not gone unnoticed that the Scotsman seemed to be helping more with preparing the ships for their next voyage. Nor had it gone unnoticed that he’d started to wear leggings instead of his plaid.

  Naðr had just made it to the gates of the main holding when Megan’s wolf appeared. He knew it was no wolf but had not shared as much. Glancing around to make sure they were alone, he crouched and quirked his lips as the dog trotted over. “Good morning, Guardian.”

  Guardian licked his cheek and buried her nose against his chest. Naðr murmured in her ear, “Is Megan awake?”

  He closed his eyes and listened to the response no human could hear. Ruffling Guardian’s head, he stood and nodded. “Much thanks.” He looked toward the building in which Heidrek slept. “Go wake him for food then.”

  When he made it into the main lodge, it was to find what Guardian had shared. Megan was breaking her fast alongside Meyla, Valan, and Raknar. He suspected Kol was still on a rampage sleeping with every woman possible before his destiny caught up with him. Others sat in the hall eating. They lowered their heads and raised their mugs when he passed.

  Naðr nodded back then sat down with his family…and Valan and Megan, at the head table. Megan seemed to have settled in well enough over the past few days.

  “Brother,” Raknar grunted as he ate.

 
“Father,” Meyla acknowledged.

  “King Naðr Véurr,” Valan said, lowering his head.

  Naðr narrowed his eyes at the Scotsman but said nothing.

  “Good morning, King Naðr,” Megan said, head lowered slightly before her eyes held his. “In a better mood today?”

  Meyla snorted then buried her grin in a mouthful of mead.

  Determined to push past his reservations and listen to Kjar’s advice that he take action one way or another with Megan, he held up his cup. “Actually, I am.” He drank deeply then dug into the food on his plate. “Megan, you will join me in my lodgings this eve.”

  The soft murmurs of people talking at other tables quieted. Megan, however, wasn’t so quiet, words surprisingly taunting. “Only if my mistress approves.”

  Arrogance! Naðr’s eyes shot to Megan’s and he sat back. “Your mistress’s permission means nothing when it comes to your king’s desires.”

  A little grin curled up the corner of Meyla’s lips as she looked from Megan to her father. But it seemed even his daughter was feeling above her station because of what she said next. “I suffer from my cycle. I need my top slave by my side.”

  Naðr didn’t miss the way Raknar’s lips twitched in repressed amusement. Two could play at this game. Eyes on his daughter, he said, “Then you will leave Valan for an eve and join Megan because I wish her company.” He smirked at his daughter. “You, of course, can wait in the other room.”

  Meyla narrowed her eyes a fraction but said nothing more.

  All might have gone well enough from there had Megan not spoken. “Maybe I don’t want her to wait in the other room.”

  Naðr bit off a piece of bread and chewed slowly, considering her. Teetering on the edge of frustration, he decided it best to take this conversation outside so he grabbed his cup of mead and stood. “Megan, join me. Now.”

  When she started to shake her head, Raknar took her elbow and made her stand. “If the king says now, you listen.”

  Megan’s eyes widened at Raknar before she tore her elbow from his grasp. Her gaze went from Valan to Meyla, something soft and indefinable in them. “Sure. Okay.” Then her eyes flickered between Raknar and Naðr. “Brutes.”

  Naðr led her out the back before he steered her along a path that led into the mountains. While he did not intend to go far, they didn’t stop walking for a while. Though he knew it was a bad idea to take her so far off, mainly because it allowed too much privacy, he couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed watching the sway of her backside and her full, curly hair blowing in the wind. His hunger for her had only grown tenfold in the past few days and he licked his lips, still tasting her tongue wrapped with his. If the raven hadn’t come, he would have already been between her legs.

  But it had.

  “Stop,” he said when they came to a waterfall not gushing but slicing smoothly down a rock face. Dragon blood sizzled beneath his skin so he tore off his tunic. After splashing cold water over his head, he nodded at a good sized stone. “Sit.”

  For a moment, it seemed like she’d defy him until her eyes landed on his bare chest. Muted, she slowly sat, appreciative gaze raking over him. But though it seemed she liked his body, it didn’t ultimately stop her from speaking.

  “You like ordering people around, huh?”

  Naðr scooped water into his mouth and eyed her. If nothing else could be said for his twenty-first century woman, she didn’t fear him in the least. As he stalked toward her he wondered yet again…did he want her to? Hel no. He wanted her to give him a good fight. Better yet, he wanted her to give everyone a good fight.

  Encased tight within the mountains, free from the raven, he didn’t hesitate to act on what he’d wanted for the past three long nights. Cupping the back of her head, he pushed her shoulder back then swiftly used that same hand to yank her leg to the side so he could settle between her thighs. Wide-eyed, caught off guard by his determination, she started to shake her head but he closed his lips over hers.

  As it was the first time they kissed, her sweet lips fell apart beneath his. Soft, pliant, eager, she groaned as her tongue warred with his. So aroused it hurt, he started to push up her skirts while moving his hips against hers. The dragon eyes rose up in his vision, as needy as him. Breath harsh and staggered, he trailed his lips down her neck as he continued pushing up her dress.

  Her hand met his and pushed it back down.

  “No,” she said between kisses, her tongue exploring his mouth before she pulled back and shook her head. “No.”

  He cupped and stroked her clothed breast, her words halfway infiltrating his conscience, his body determined to respond to hers. “Yes.”

  When his lips tried to meet hers again, she cupped his cheeks, eyes both wild with desire and determined. “No. It’s time to talk.”

  Naðr ground his jaw, his rock hard arousal pinned against her clothed center as he worked to reign in his lust. He’d yet to take a woman against her will and wouldn’t start now. Still, he ground against her so slowly that Megan’s eyes drifted for a moment before she again shook her head. “No. Talk.”

  “Loki’s balls,” he mumbled hoarsely as he pulled away.

  Rolling onto the rock beside her, he kept one hand on her hip, fell back and stared at the sky. If he didn’t release his seed soon, he’d weaken to the point that Odin wouldn’t want his ass in Valhalla to begin with. No warrior could ever fight and win if the stiffness between his legs kept him from warring to begin with.

  Megan leaned forward, head in her hands, and breathed heavily.

  Naðr closed his eyes to any hope of Valhalla, put the back of his hand to his forehead and muttered, “Talk then, woman.”

  Megan pushed aside his hand. Her voice might have been breathy with lust moments before but now she sounded clipped. “I’ll talk but you’ll look at me while I do, not act like you’re humoring me.”

  Naðr opened his eyes to half-mast and watched her. “Will I now?”

  Instead of getting angered at his indifference, she laid back on the rock as well, propped her hand beneath her head and stared at the sky, words soft. “You will if you want to know more about the raven.”

  Naðr ignored the extra thud of his heart, voice equally soft. “What raven?”

  Megan ran her foot up along the rock, enough so that her dress tightened around her slim leg. “She visits me too.”

  While he could easily share thoughts with his brothers, it wasn’t nearly the same with a woman he hadn’t bonded with. So he was careful with his words. “Who is she?”

  Megan didn’t answer right away, her hand running along her thigh as if she subconsciously meant to tempt him. “I have no idea. But I’m fairly certain she tried to lead me to you.” Her hand trailed up her stomach. “You both came when the box did.”

  The seers flashed in his vision.

  “Box?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her sensual demeanor shutting down as she continued to stare at the sky. “I found it on the shore in front of my house.” She closed her eyes. “It contained three stones and had your name carved into the inner lid.”

  Interesting. “The stone you have has the Spirit Ship on one side, the Vegvisir on the other. What of the other two?”

  Her eyes flickered to the tattoo of the Spirit Ship on his shoulder and the smaller Vegvisir tattoo faded over the lower right-hand corner of it.

  “The second stone has the Helm of Awe, or Aegishjalmur, on one side and the Hugin and Munin symbol on the other.” She frowned. “So the Helm of Awe, a rune stave, is a protective symbol meant to instill fear in one’s enemies and the Hugin and Munin, Odin’s ravens, of thought and memory.”

  “Raknar’s tattoo,” he whispered, eyes to the sky again.

  Naðr ground his teeth and swallowed. As they knew, this meant Raknar had a strong enemy on the horizon. One so vicious that he’d need magical protection. And one so poignant that Odin would be watching closely. Or at least that was a portion of what two such symbols together could mean
. But his brother was more vicious than most so would likely manage through what the seers foresaw.

  More worried about his youngest sibling, Kol and his inclination toward women and their easiness he wondered if the last stone would be a match, sealing his fate. “What of the third stone?”

  When Megan remained silent, his eyes turned to hers, unflinching and deadly serious. “Tell me.”

  Her gaze was stronger than he would have expected. “Valknut.” Her eyes didn’t waver. “Hrungnir’s heart. Knot of the Slain. And the Web of Wyrd.”

  The Web of Wyrd served as a reminder that the actions of the past affect the present and that present actions affect the future; all timelines inextricably interconnected. He’d been uneasy when the interlocked tattoos appeared on Kol. That they were on this mystery stone confirmed his discomfort.

  He frowned and sat up. “Certain death.”

  What sort of agreement was this that he and his sacrificed so much? But he knew. Naðr held his forehead and closed his eyes.

  Megan’s soft hand fell on his shoulder. “Please talk to me. I need to understand.”

  And she did. More than most. Head still braced in his hands he started to explain.

  “I owed a Scotsman as well as both his gods and mine a great deal. So two things were given. The first, Meyla gave Adlin MacLomain a son. This child will lead to the births of many important MacLomains to come.” Naðr hesitated, still wondering if he’d gone about all of this in the right way. “The second was less for him but his offspring, my descendant, Torra MacLomain. Still, it was always to repay Adlin a great debt. Regardless, I love Torra so I must take the second part of all this as my own.”

  Megan said nothing but waited.

  So Naðr continued with a twist, possibly sneer, to his lips. “Torra feared her dragon blood, the dragon within her, would hurt her clan so I enlisted the seers’ help to repress the beast for ten winters.” He shook his head, frustrated. “But while she thought the seers’ demands were minor they weren’t.”