Alrek

by Samantha Holt

  Her mouth quirked in response. “Mayhap you shall stay tied there forever anyway.”

  “I hope not, Ilisa.” He allowed his voice to drop as he uttered her name and his pride swelled at the darkening of her eyes. Maybe he wasn’t the only one affected here. “I should like my hands free…” Alrek let the words trail, hoped her imagination was running as vividly as his. Why was he torturing himself thus? But it seemed around Ilisa he could not help himself.

  Chapter Two

  Ilisa failed to suppress a shudder at his words. Perhaps the cold caused it. Her damp skirts had turned her legs to ice long ago, but she suspected it more likely his words. If his hands were free, what would he do? Touch her as she had him? Or use the opportunity to harm her like she expected a Viking would? She turned her head to the side to avoid his assessing look and moved to fuss with the blankets.

  In truth, this man seemed nothing like a normal Viking. He laughed openly and was grateful for her help. Mayhap he was simply trying to lure her into a sense of security so she’d release him. Ilisa wasn’t the best at reading people. Since the death of her husband and brother, she’d spent little time around others. It was better she leave him tied up for the moment, though he was right. He couldn’t stay that way forever.

  She caught sight of his long legs peeking out of the blanket. Dusted with dark golden hair, they made her body ache as she recalled other parts of him covered in the same hair. Undressing the Viking had been no easy task, particularly when every part of him fascinated her. She’d never seen a man so powerful and muscular. Interesting swirling patterns covered his skin made out of some kind of blue dye, she concluded. Picts painted themselves in battle but she had never seen permanent markings before. His skin was golden, even the parts usually hidden by clothing so she assumed he spent time naked out of doors. Her cheeks heated just imagining the warrior in all his glory under the midday sun. Scars littered his body, some small and some that spoke of many near death experiences.

  This man was a warrior, a bringer of death. So why wasn’t she scared of him?

  Ilisa glanced up and caught him studying her. Her breath caught, she dropped the blanket and stood back.

  “You must get out of your gown, Ilisa. Do not ail because of me.”

  She ground her teeth and glanced at the wet hem again. She had little intention of falling ill but she could not change in front of him and in her tiny home, there was nowhere to hide.

  “I cannot do anything, can I?” He lifted his bound wrists.

  “You can look.”

  “I shall close my eyes.”

  The twist of his lips told her otherwise and she sighed. “See that you do. Do not forget who saved your life. I could have easily tossed you back to sea.”

  “I doubt that.” His grin widened.

  She shook her head, exasperated. Alrek really did seem to be able to see through her. She should have left him but she was too soft-hearted. If she had abandoned him, it would have plagued her forever. Snatching a gown from the hook on the door, she peered at him from over her shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

  He did. Slowly. As if unwilling to give up the sight of her. She hadn’t revealed her body to a man in many years. The thought of him seeing her as she had him both unnerved and thrilled her. Such wanton thoughts made her movements jerky as she tugged off the damp wool. She chanced another look at Alrek to see he had remained true to his word and kept his eyes shut. Good. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Besides, he might not appreciate her curved figure. Perhaps he liked women with a more muscular build. He was clearly strong. Ilisa had little idea what Viking women looked like but she imagined they were strong and fierce like their men.

  Her fingers tangled in the ties of the clean gown. She had no spare chemise so she would have to forgo it while she washed and dried it. Alrek’s clothes would need washing too. The thought made her stomach twist. She hadn’t performed chores for a man for many years and now she was to do it for a Viking. What had she been thinking when she rescued him—the enemy?

  It took several tries to pull on her gown. Her fingers shook as butterflies floundered in her chest. Aware of the cold air breezing over her naked skin, she heard each of Alrek’s inhalations and prayed he was not watching her. Her skin heated until she feared she might explode into flame. With the gown finally on, she made quick work of tying the laces at the front.

  Ilisa turned to Alrek to see him waiting patiently, eyes still shut. She placed her hands on her hips. “All done.”

  He opened his eyes, lips quirking into a grin and his gaze shot to her breasts. When she glanced down, she realised her nipples were peaked against the wool and with no added barrier of linen, they were clearly visible. Somehow she managed to resist clamping her hands across her chest. Instead she stared him down until he sheepishly lifted his gaze to hers.

  “Can I get you a drink?” she asked in a desperate bid to diffuse the heat swirling through the air.

  “Aye, a drink would be most welcome. It appears I swallowed half the sea.”

  She giggled and turned to the table to pour him a drink. Strange how comfortable she already felt with him. She would have to stay on her guard and pray no one from the village discovered she had a Viking in her home. They would probably burn it to the ground and her along with it. Particularly Galan. He had been vying to take her late husband, Donnie’s place for many seasons now. Finding a Viking in the place he had already decided was his own would certainly anger him.

  Ilisa went to hand him his drink, forgetting his hands were tied. A brow rose as he eyed her. “Forgive me.” She sat on the chair next to the bed once more and offered him the beaker.

  “I am no child. Release my hands and I’ll take a drink for myself.”

  “Nay. You shall have to accept my aid or go thirsty.”

  “Ilisa,” he said through gritted teeth, “I will not harm you, how many times must I say it? You saved my life. I am not without honour.”

  She snorted. “Vikings do not have honour.” His jaw clenched and she waited for some words of defence to spill forward but none came.

  “Release just one hand then,” he reasoned.

  Ilisa eyed those large palms and huffed. “Fine, but one wrong move and I shall run you through.”

  His lips twitched but he nodded seriously. She shifted to perch on the bedside, her thigh brushing against his hip. Her cheeks flamed as she considered how little fabric was between them. Leaning over, she loosened the knot around one wrist. Muscles tense, she waited for him to wriggle his wrist free. She released a breath when all he did was flex his fingers and roll his wrist.

  “That is better. I can feel my hand now.”

  She laughed and reached for the beaker but he snatched her wrist and prevented her from doing so. Her heart bounded. She had read him wrong. He was going to kill her or harm her in some way. Eyes wide, she tried to twist away but he tugged her into him so she sprawled on his chest. As she was about to push away, he released her and skimmed his fingers over her cheek. She froze.

  “You are a siren.”

  Her breath stalled in her lungs. His deep blue eyes drew her in. She slid her gaze briefly down his features. His lips, surrounded with fair hair, were mere inches from hers. The desire to rake her fingers through that coarse hair bubbled inside. Then his fingers traced her mouth before threading into her hair. She released a small sound—too much like a whimper for her liking—and he coaxed her closer. Their breaths twisted in anticipation. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

  Alrek’s lips met hers in a rush, like a wave that could not be held back. And she was powerless. The kiss was firm, strong, demanding. He didn’t open his mouth to her, just moved his lips over hers. She ached for a taste of him but her mind had shut down and all she could do was respond to each impulse as it struck. At the moment, her instinct was to sink into him and let him do whatever he wished with her.

  He groaned at the press of breasts against him and finally opened his mouth to her
. Their tongues met in a clash of desire. It had been so long, she’d forgotten the pleasure a simple kiss brought. But then, this was no simple kiss. Lust flowed freely through her, made her tremble. When she pushed the kiss deeper, a great splintering sound resounded through the room. Vaguely she wondered if it was the sound of her resolve cracking as Alrek cupped her face in both hands and held her to him.

  “You taste like a siren,” he murmured, drawing back briefly. “I could lose myself to you, Ilisa.”

  She relished the warm touch of his palms on her cheeks, their coarseness as electrifying as a storm. It made her skin tingle and her body sensitize. The heat on either side of her face blazed into her mind and she gasped, tugging back. He dropped his hands, eyes shuttering with disappointment. Ilisa ignored the dropping sensation in her chest and stared at his free hands and the splintered bedframe.

  Alrek lifted his shoulders. “Forgive me. I forgot myself.” He eased himself up to sitting, the blanket pooling around his hips and revealing the wide expanse of his chest to her. A chest that he could pull her against and crush her in one movement. She stumbled back and reached for the sword but her shaking arms refused to lift it so she gripped the pommel uselessly.

  “You… you could have done that all along?”

  “Aye. But I did not. See you have nothing to fear from me.”

  Her knees juddered beneath her. To think she’d believed a few ropes could restrain him. But he was right. She did not fear he would harm her. Not now. Now she feared her reaction to him. What was she thinking? In the moment his lips had touched hers, she had been his to do with as he wished. If he had decided to bed her, she would have given herself up willingly.

  To a Viking!

  A Viking who was likely no different from the men who had killed her husband and attacked the village four summers ago.

  She released the pommel and smoothed her hands down her skirts. “Aye, I see that,” she said shakily. “Well, there is your drink.” She nodded to the table. “I-I…I must check on the flock. I shall return in but a moment.”

  Without glancing to see his reaction, she scurried from the hut, the wooden door slamming behind her. Wind whipped across the headland, cool and fresh, bringing with it the promise of more rain. Ilisa pinched the bridge of her nose. Mayhap he thought her scared of him. Well, let him think that. He had broken her bed after all. She hitched up her skirts and picked her way across the muddy ground to where the flock sat high up on the hill. A stone wall, crumbling and covered in moss marked the boundary of her land. She paused and sat on it. The sheep would need shearing soon and she would have much work on her hands.

  Ilisa studied her red palms. Once they had been soft and well cared for but since the death of Donnie, she’d laboured like a farmhand to support herself. With no dowry and their few riches taken from them by the Vikings, she had no other choice. A few of the young lads would come to help in return for wool when the time came. She should be grateful for that. If it was up to Galan, no one would help her and she’d have little chance of keeping on top of her chores. He made no secret of wanting to be her next husband. Ilisa wrinkled her nose at the thought of Galan lying in the place Alrek currently occupied. A more arrogant man, she’d never met. Galan would treat her no better than one of her sheep. She would never be bound to such a man.

  But for now, she should be worrying about the man who occupied her bed. He seemed well enough. The cut on his head had stopped bleeding but what to do with him? Send him on his way perhaps? But to where? Straightening her shoulders, Ilisa stood and cast her gaze over the flock once more, satisfied all was well. What else was she going to do? Avoid him forever? The sun had already dropped in the sky, casting amber flickers over the hills. A chill seeped into her bones. The night promised to be cold and she had no firewood.

  “Do not even think on it, Ilisa,” she scolded herself under her breath when a thought of how she could stay warm occurred—a vision of steely flesh pressing against hers, of crisp hair rasping over her tender skin.

  Mud squelching beneath her feet, she shook off the image and made her way to the cottage. The dwelling seemed dwarfed by the scenery behind it—the great rolling hills and dark cliff tops that dropped off into the ocean. What must Alrek think of the dishevelled building with its patchy roof and crumbling walls? Unfortunately she had little time to look after her home as well as the flock.

  Hand to the weather-beaten wood, she paused at the door and filled her lungs with the sea scented air. Holding that breath, she stepped in. Her lungs deflated and Ilisa released a small sound. “What are you doing?”

  Alrek stood by the rear window, the blanket fisted around his waist, a cloth in his other hand. He whirled around and Ilisa had to bite her tongue to keep from making any further embarrassing sounds. Lying down he had been impressive. Standing, he sucked the air from her chest and twisted her stomach into knots. He had lit several tallow candles and the smoke clouded the air. The swirling glow highlighted the dips on his torso and Ilisa clamped her hands to her sides. As she’d been undressing him, she’d longed to trace those ridges and now that desire struck again.

  “I have several more cuts it seems. I was trying to clean them.” He offered a nonchalant shrug, as if being practically naked in front of a woman was nothing.

  Perhaps it wasn’t to him. Clearly a virile man, he likely bedded a different woman every time he made port. She prayed he did not force himself on anyone. He didn’t seem the type and, frankly, what woman would turn him down?

  She would, she reminded herself. A Viking in her bed was not what she needed right now. She motioned for him to sit on the straw mattress. “Let me do it. You’re making a mess, dropping water everywhere.”

  Both his brows rose at her comment.

  “Well, more of a mess than it already is. I do not have much time you see…” She snatched the cloth from him and urged him to the bed. “And ‘tis only me…”

  “Ilisa…” He sat and she positioned herself behind his back.

  “I am not strong enough for a lot of the things that need doing…”

  “Ilisa.” His hand gripped hers suddenly and she stared at it. “It is well enough, Ilisa. You need not offer me any apologies.”

  She straightened. “I wasn’t apologising. I just…” With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the grazes on his taut skin. Why did she care what a Viking thought of her dwelling so much anyway? He shuddered when she pressed the wet cloth to his back. His skin rippled with the movement, his muscles undulating. What would it be like to press herself against that back?

  “I must have scraped my back on the rocks. It feels as though I have a thousand cuts there.”

  Ilisa chuckled. “Not a thousand. Just a few. I fear they might be from me dragging you, though I avoided all the very sharp rocks.”

  “Oh, well that is good to hear.”

  “Anyhow these grazes are but small compared to some of the injuries you have clearly suffered in the past.” She dabbed away the crusted blood on his shoulder and scrutinised the cut. She’d been right—most were tiny and likely caused by her rather than a meeting with the rocks. But the many scars slashed across his skin reminded her of the warrior behind the jovial manners.

  “Aye, well I don’t intend to gain any more injuries.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My life as a warrior is far behind me. This was to be my last voyage.”

  Ilisa gulped. Coldness seeped into her bones and pooled in her stomach. “And what was your intention behind this voyage?”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “To gain supplies and…”

  “And?”

  “Naught more than that really.”

  “I see.”

  She shifted away and placed the cloth on the table. Had he and his crew intended to raid the coastline? Had she been wrong about Alrek? It stood to reason he’d be no different from any other Viking she’d encountered—bloodthirsty, dangerous, greedy. Still, she had committed to aiding him an
d Ilisa always saw things through to the end. Rummaging through the coffer at the end of her bed, she found an old shirt and trews and handed them over.

  His brow creased. “What shall I do with these?”

  “Wear them.” Frustration and a deep well of anguish burned in her gut. How much longer she could endure the sight of his gleaming skin and muscles she did not know. The last thing she needed was to throw herself at him again.

  “I shall wear my own clothes.” Alrek fingered the coarse plaid, barely disguising a look of contempt for her departed husband’s clothes. His lips—those lips that had touched her own not long ago—curled down as he lifted the shirt. “This will not fit me. Bring me my garments.”

  A burst of anger sparked in her chest. Heat flowed freely through her and she threw up her hands. “Your clothes need washing and these are all I have. By God, I should have left you where I found you. You cannot go walking around dressed like a Viking! You have no idea what sort of danger you would put us in. You will wear these clothes and you will be grateful!”

  Chapter Three

  Alrek blinked at this hissing and spitting woman in front of him. Where had his sweet siren gone? He’d offended her, he realised belatedly. His contempt for the garments she’d so graciously given him had angered her. His chest deflated. Bitterness sat in his throat. What an ungrateful fool he must seem? First he kissed her and now he had upset her. But he had to admit, with her hair aglow in the candlelight, her cheeks rosy with anger and her eyes wide with indignation, she made for a tempting sight.

  He doubted Ilisa would appreciate him saying as much. A loose curl of hair snaked its way over the curve of her breasts and his traitorous gaze followed it as she drew in several deep breaths. She wasn’t wearing a chemise. He knew mostly because he’d seen her dress. Another dishonourable act on his behalf, but after all he was just a man. Perhaps the glimpse of a well-rounded, pale rear and gently curving spine had addled his mind and forced him to forget his manners. He had even been lucky and caught sight of the curve of one breast. Even now, her nipples pressed against the blue wool of her gown and he knew if she bent just right, he would have a wonderful view. The woman was made for a man’s hands. Made for holding, and caressing and loving.