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

by Sky Purington

  When snow and ice started to spit from the sky while sunlight sliced across the clouds whirling up through the peaks above, he grinned. When Thor’s hammer fell and thunder rumbled and belched overhead, his lips spread into a wicked smile.

  His prayers had been answered.

  Chapter Twelve

  My dog better not be dead. But though she’d worried endlessly, now was not the time for further speculation. Megan spit snow off her lip and glared into the charcoal lined eyes of her captor.

  Pale-faced but remarkably beautiful, the woman stared back, her red lips full and uncompromising. Like smoke from a pipe, her breath met the icy air in thin tendrils of steamy fog. Somehow this far-too-worldly creature had been the timid mouse of a servant who’d lured her from Naðr’s bed to begin with.

  A heavy white hood intensified the woman’s biting blue-green eyes as her penetrating gaze never left Megan’s face. There was no need to guess at why a woman leading so many men held her captive. She craved power. Having dealt with a lot of power hungry people in her life, she recognized one who wanted more than most.

  At last, the woman spoke, her voice a soft, sultry purr. “I see the draw the dragon king has to you.” Then she paused, speculative. “Even how you might tempt his brothers as well.”

  Megan had no idea how she understood the woman’s words without her stone but speculated the new tattoo might have something to do with it. All her old business instincts kicked in and she kept quiet, eyes unwavering from the woman’s. Best to let her talk so that things could be learned. People always had a weakness and she guessed based on those few words that Naðr and his brothers were at the top of this chick’s list.

  Grin small, the woman released a breathy sigh and leaned back. “What think you of Naðr Véurr? Ferocious bit of man him. Did you find his cock satisfying?” A low chuckle simmered within her chest. “I always did prefer Raknar’s.” She shrugged. “But then again…”

  Her words trailed off as she watched Megan, sly grin unwavering. Refusing to be baited, Megan kept a level glare and said nothing.

  “I like you,” the Viking woman said, voice once more a soft purr. “Strong, unbending…at least for now.”

  The way she said ‘now’ sent chills up Megan’s spine. There was something entirely not only wrong but corrupt about the woman, something that somehow took away from what would normally be stunning beauty.

  “Oh.” A little grin hitched the woman’s lips. “Here they come.”

  What was she talking about? Megan couldn’t hear a thing, but wind whistling through the mountains. Even the fifty or so warriors she’d been traveling with all day were utterly silent. But all gripped their swords and axes, eyes to their surroundings. Suddenly the air felt heavy and oppressive despite the cold.

  Then, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, Naðr strode out of nowhere, axe swinging back and forth loosely by his hip. He wore a devilish grin even as too many of the enemy surrounded him.

  Thank God.

  Crazed but calm at the same time, his eyes remained locked on the woman sitting opposite her. While one part of her wanted to run to him like the silly girl in a bad horror movie, she’d never be so foolish. Instead, Megan waited and tried to figure out how the heck to help.

  “Yrsa,” Naðr’s deep voice rumbled as he stopped, shook his head and rested the handle of his axe casually on his shoulder as though contemplating which tree to cut down. “Why does this not surprise me?”

  “Naðr Véurr ‘the bold’”, she drawled as though she didn’t think him bold in the least. Standing, she pushed back her hood, inclined her head and offered an equally unaffected grin. “Where are your brothers then? It’s been far too long.”

  Kol and Raknar stepped forward, just as casual, flanking their brother.

  None said a word but eyed each other for a long moment.

  Unleashed tension snapped between them and her captor.

  Finally, as though she’d been waiting centuries to say such, Yrsa’s eyes landed on Raknar. “There you are, love.” She tilted back her head and slowly licked her lips. “Still tempting as ever.”

  Face stoic and unreadable, Raknar remained silent as Naðr spoke. “Give us Megan and I’ll kill your men fast rather than,” he eyes slid languidly over several of Yrsa’s warriors, “Far too slowly.”

  Megan held her breath as tension crackled. Though only Naðr and his brothers had appeared, she sensed the enemy’s palpable fear.

  “Yes. Right. Them.” Yrsa made a loose gesture with her hand that brushed away her men as though blood didn’t still pump through their veins. “Replaceable.”

  Then she swept a stern yet somehow cunningly lusty look over those defending her. “Is that not right?” Before any could make a move or give a response, she shrugged and locked eyes with Naðr. “But of course I’m right and my men know it. They love me as I love them.”

  Naðr let her words sink in as his grin dropped and his eyes hardened. “Love aside you’ve one of two options now.”

  When he paused, she arched a brow in question.

  The king seemed to enjoy the game as he let his axe swing back and forth, lazy eyes crawling over his opponents. The corner of Naðr’s lips jerked up as though he’d rather not talk but dig his blade into the nearest man. His eyes snapped back to Yrsa. “Why don’t you tell me what you think those options are.”

  Her eyes stayed steady on the king. Instead of reciting Naðr’s possible options she gave but one of her own. “Give me Nathan, take Megan, then leave or,” and she seemed to cherish the challenge, “We war here and now.”

  The corner of Naðr’s lip inched higher and his eyebrows arched. “But of course.”

  Then he made a motion with his hand.

  Nathan was dragged forward, bedraggled, the opposite of the smooth businessman she remembered. For a moment, a scant second, she almost felt bad for him. Then the feeling passed. He’d brought this on himself.

  “So we will exchange prisoners?” Yrsa said.

  Naðr didn’t look Megan’s way once but kept his eyes pinned on the Viking woman. “We will.”

  “Good.” Yrsa swiftly lifted a bow and arrow, looked Megan’s way and offered a loose shrug. “Men, what good are they?”

  Megan had a split second to understand her meaning before Yrsa released the arrow and whiz, it thumped into Nathan’s heart. Time froze. Holy hell. She didn’t recognize the strange strangled sound that broke from her chest when Nathan’s eyes met hers and he fell to his knees.

  Still caught in her ex-husband’s dying gaze, she barely processed what blew up around her. Daggers, swords, arrows, everything was unleashed. Because for whatever reason, the enemy killing Nathan, who was surely the enemy as well, meant a mini-war here and now.

  Calm under pressure despite how frightening the unfolding scene, Megan swallowed but didn’t panic when one of Yrsa’s men fell dead at her feet. Survival mode in high gear, she quickly wrangled both his blade and shield from him then ducked behind a nearby rock.

  She kept the shield up, stayed put and peered out at the battling. Well, to be honest, mostly Naðr Véurr. Christ, was he impressive. She laid eyes on him seconds before he tossed aside his shield, ran forward, whipping not only his axe but dagger. The axe thunked into a man’s forehead. The dagger, straight through another’s throat.

  Then, eyes crazed, a wicked grin still on his face, he yanked another dagger from his boot and unsheathed a sword. With a solid, impressive round-house kick, he slammed an oncoming man in the chest with his foot while simultaneously slicing another across the chest with his dagger. Laughing, he started sparring with his sword even as he punched yet another.

  The man was completely insane.

  But damn, did it work for her.

  One thing she started to notice, however, no matter how many Naðr fought and killed, his brothers and his men stayed close, protecting him the best they could. Even so, Naðr seemed equally determined to defend his brothers as he cut down several who got too
close.

  All the while, Yrsa watched, patient arms crossed over her chest and dagger in hand. Should Megan confront her? See if she could manage at least with this sword? Probably not the brightest idea because she got the distinct impression the woman could fight well.

  The king and his brothers fought their way closer and closer. Naðr had just dug his dagger into the gut of one man while thrusting his sword across the throat of another, all the while roaring, “Come then Yrsa, don’t be a coward. Fight!”

  Naðr was within a dozen or so feet and still parrying with several warriors. The fighting was nearly on top of her so Megan figured she’d make her way around the backside of the rock. Maybe she’d get a better opportunity to help if she caught one of the enemy warriors unaware. Hindered by the heavy material, she lost the cloak and stumbled through a thin, icy layer of snow beside the rock face. She’d just rounded the corner when a strong hand clamped over her mouth from behind.

  Though she executed about every self-defense move she could think of, the brute of a man still managed to wrap an arm around her stomach and drag her backwards. Most of the day she’d endured lewd glances from these men but because of Yrsa none touched her. Guess that’d changed despite the nearby battle. Refusing to panic, Megan remained calm and waited for the first opportunity to retaliate.

  Breath whooshed from her lungs as he slammed her down onto her back. Furious, she tried to knee him, but he deflected. She drove a fist into his side. He chuckled. So she dug her nails deep into his arms. Eyes cruel, the swine laughed harder.

  Well, this wasn’t good.

  The next thing she knew he’d pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and locked another meaty palm tightly around her throat. Sneering, she spit in his face even as she gasped for air. That didn’t faze him in the least. When her body started to grow weaker, he took advantage and settled between her legs. Oh, crap. Tunnel vision twisted up between her and the madman holding her down.

  Suddenly, he was yanked back. Hand to her neck, struggling for breath, Megan blinked as Naðr tossed aside her assailant. Growling, enraged, he leaped onto the enemy and started punching.

  Over and over, the men tagged one another as they rolled through the snow. Yet soon enough the king managed to wrap his hands around the other guy’s throat and squeezed hard. The enemy struggled for a few long moments before he finally went slack.

  Naðr wasted no more time on the man but rushed over to her. Though outrage simmered in his regard, tenderness and concern softened his voice when he cupped the side of Megan’s neck and gently ran his thumb over her throat. “Are you all right?”

  There was likely already bruising from being strangled. Megan nodded, still a bit shaky. “I’m fine. It’s okay.”

  She gripped his arms, almost afraid to ask. “How is Guardian?”

  “Your dog will be fine. She is strong,” he assured.

  “She’s not dead?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “She’s alive, so you need not worry.”

  Sharp relief flooded her.

  The rest of the fighting died away and she didn’t have to wonder who won as Raknar, speckled in blood, shook his head when he joined them. “Yrsa was never even here to begin with. Damn seer.”

  Seer?

  But she had no time to ask more as Naðr led them back to where Yrsa had been. It appeared all who had fought for the woman met a brutal death. Sobered by the carnage, Megan kept silent.

  Then her eyes fell on Nathan.

  Sprawled out, he lay in blood stained snow, eyes wide to the sky.

  “Jesus,” she whispered and went to his side. The moment felt surreal as she crouched and swept her fingers over his eyelids, closing them. It was hard to believe he was gone. Most of her adult life revolved around this man. Or at least it had. He did a lot of rotten things, but he didn’t deserve this. Did he? What exactly had he been up to? And why, when Yrsa seemed to want to trade for him did she then decide to kill him? But then Raknar had said she wasn’t here to begin with.

  Megan came to her feet when Naðr wrapped a cloak over her shoulders.

  “We need to leave soon.” Naðr glanced at Nathan before his concerned eyes went to Megan. “I know he was your mate. We will give him a short but proper burial.”

  She was touched by the gesture.

  “Thank you,” she whispered before her voice grew stronger. “But only if it won’t put you and your men at further risk.”

  Naðr gestured at Kjar and nodded toward Nathan. His cousin seemed to understand. Nothing was said as the men, including the king and his brothers, covered the body with rocks. Megan understood that this was their way of showing respect not to Nathan but to her.

  In little time they finished and gave Megan a few moments alone. Never could she have imagined closing such a large chapter of her life on a mountain in ninth century Scandinavia. But though she searched for anguish she found none. If anything, she realized she felt not sad but numb.

  Eventually, Naðr came alongside and took her hand, his touch soothing. “We must go.”

  Megan trailed her eyes over the burial site one last time and joined him. Naðr said nothing as they headed downward. She knew he was giving her time to mourn. But the truth was she’d lost Nathan a long time ago and though some might think she should feel more, she simply did not.

  The sky was darkening and snow fell heavier when she at last broke the silence. “It was a pretty steep climb coming up in daylight with no snow. How will it be going down?”

  “We will not be making it back to the holding today. We’ll spend the night on the mountain.”

  That made sense she supposed. Hard to imagine where they’d make camp though. Megan nodded and eyed him. His tousled black hair and fur cloak were a startling contrast to the white snow. And when those blue eyes turned her way, it took about everything she had to keep thoughts of last night out of her mind.

  But it seemed he’d seen what he was looking for because he stopped short, pulled her close and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. His voice was gruff, noticeably impassioned. “I’m sorry Yrsa managed to get you. I’ve never worried over a woman like I did you today. Hel, it was no good.”

  He brushed his thumb slowly back and forth over her jaw line, eyes locked on hers. And while some men might say a great many tender things at that moment, Naðr’s idea of romancing her was entirely different. “You will learn how to fight and defend yourself. Then I will know you’re safe when I am not with you.”

  “Well, while I’m here I hope to stick around you and your family as much as possible.”

  “While you are here,” he mumbled but then something shifted in his gaze and he gave a brief nod. “Because you intend to find a way home.”

  “Naturally,” she responded, voice guarded and softer than intended. Megan swallowed hard, stunned to realize the idea of going home, of leaving him, made her stomach flip and chest tighten. She bit her lower lip. Heck, she’d technically only known him mere days. But her heart apparently didn’t care in the slightest.

  While she sensed he wasn’t pleased in the least with her desire to find her way home, he wasn’t the sort to try to convince her otherwise. At least not with words. Instead, his eyes fell to her mouth; intrigued it seemed by her top teeth nibbling at her lower lip. In direct response, she rubbed her lips together, wetting them. Though a purely subconscious action, heat gathered in his gaze. With a low, hungry growl, he cupped her cheeks and closed his mouth over hers.

  Holding on for dear life, she wrapped her arms under his cloak and around his waist. Anything to anchor herself within the swiftly rising tide of sensations. There was a new urgency, one she suspected had a lot to do with releasing the pent-up trauma from the day’s events. Already, she matched his aggressiveness and wrapped her tongue around his, twisting and searching in a matched rhythm. Hard, fast, desperate, their mouths explored, searched, and needed more.

  “Plenty of time for that once we make camp,” Kol said in passing, h
umor in his muttered words.

  But Naðr took his time ending the kiss, lips warm and thorough. Even as he reluctantly pulled back, his lips brushed over hers several more times. Yet still he cupped her cheeks, his thumbs dusting over the top of her cheekbones as he looked into her eyes. Megan’s breath caught at not only the desire she saw there but the blatant yearning for something else altogether. She realized at that moment that his feelings toward her had grown as quickly as hers had toward him.

  When he took her hand and they started walking, she felt considerably less heavy of heart than before. Though snow fell harder, towering trees kept the bulk of it away. Naðr’s expression and demeanor had shifted once more to being a leader as he ordered a few men ahead to scout for any lingering trouble. Honestly, she’d been surprised by the caring, almost gentle man he’d been minutes before.

  Unlike just about everybody else she’d met in life, it seemed that Naðr Véurr was unlikely ever going to be someone she could easily figure out. Sure, she hadn’t known him long but Megan got the impression the king preferred being unpredictable. Anticipating his words and actions was tricky and she expected that wouldn’t change.

  And she wouldn’t want it to.

  Megan inhaled deeply and shook her head. Why was she thinking as if she’d be staying? Eager to move away from her misconstrued thoughts, she steered into safer waters. Or fairly safe. “So why did Raknar call Yrsa a seer and say she wasn’t actually here? Because she definitely seemed like she was here as we traveled today.”

  Interestingly enough, asking questions like this didn’t seem all that far-fetched anymore.

  Naðr didn’t answer right away, as if debating what to say. When he did speak, his tone was tepid. “Yrsa is one of five sisters, all of who are seers. All were very beautiful.”