A Viking For The Viscountess

by Michelle Willingham

  She will lose the child. Then there will be nothing binding you to the mortal world.

  From within the boat, he felt the sea begin to stir. The waters grew rough, and he grasped the mast as the winds heightened. It was a physical manifestation of Freya’s wrath, and he fought to hold his footing. The storm grew violent, lightning flashing from Odin above. Thunder rumbled, and water crashed against the side of the boat.

  Yet he felt no fear. He was already dead, and he’d lost everything worth fighting for. From deep inside came the need to lash back at the storm. He stood against the wind and the biting rain, his fury rising. The wind battered at him, but he released a roar of frustration and grief.

  Not yet, he told the goddess, casting back the same words she had told him on the night he’d died. You cannot have my soul yet. It belongs to her.

  But he heard only malicious laughter in response. A life must be given to take your place.

  He sank to his knees in the boat, his head bowed. Grief roared through him, for he would never regret giving up his life for Harry’s. Nor would he want Juliana to lose their unborn child.

  He understood now that being a father meant more than offering protection and shelter. A child took away pieces of a man’s heart. Even in the afterworld, he would carry the memory of the young boy smiling up at him as they smeared mud into Juliana’s house.

  Now he realized the agony he’d forced his father to endure when he’d left Rogaland, never to return. With each year Arik had been gone, Valdr Thorgrim had suffered.

  Regret swelled within him, as he realized this was his punishment. He would not live to grow old with Juliana or watch their children grow to manhood.

  But he would wait for her in Asgard. No matter how many centuries it took.

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  The journey back to the Duke of Somerford’s estate was arduous, and Juliana wanted to weep during every last mile. She was no stranger to heartache, but the letter in her hand was a tangible reminder of all that had been lost.

  Grelod had remained silent during the journey, not answering any questions, but simply keeping to herself. Harry had slept in Juliana’s lap, and she’d taken comfort that her boy would now live in a place that he could call home.

  In his letter, the duke had given orders for Juliana to live upon the estate and make it hers until his son returned. She was grateful to have a place of her own, even if it meant remaining away from London. Here, Harry could grow into manhood without others ridiculing him for her mistakes.

  And as for William, the duke had written that his solicitor would ensure that Lord Hawthorne would face censure for the way he’d deceived her with a false marriage. Although it seemed that all of the events surrounding the shooting had been erased, she had to trust that somehow justice would be served.

  The coach drew to a stop, and Juliana woke Harry. “We’re here at our new home, darling.”

  Harry yawned and stretched, before he bounded out the door to hold it open for them. Their dog, Bartholomew, jumped down, his tail wagging. Juliana smiled and let the footman help her out, ruffling her son’s hair. She clutched the duke’s letter and walked along the gravel pathway toward the house.

  The country estate was larger than Hawthorne House, with a brick front and tall windows. Ivy edged the far wall, and she caught a glimpse of pink roses in the gardens. It was the sort of home she’d dreamed of once. And for now, she would try to live each day as if it were her last.

  Juliana was about to give the footman instructions about their belongings, when suddenly she glimpsed a tall figure crossing the grounds. He wore a bottle-green coat and his hair was longer than was fashionable.

  Was he real?

  Her heart started beating so fast, she couldn’t breathe anymore. Seizing the hem of her skirts, she broke into a full run. The man turned, and she saw Arik Thorgrim, in the flesh. Despite all that had happened, he was here.

  Juliana could hardly see the man through her tears, and when she reached him, she threw herself into his arms. “You’re alive.” The two words couldn’t possible convey her joy, and she embraced him tightly. Though she didn’t know how any of this was possible when she had watched him die in her arms, she didn’t ask. None of it mattered, and she buried her face in his chest, holding him close.

  But he wasn’t holding her in return. Instead, he gently extricated her arms from his neck. “Do I know you?”

  His voice held a slight accent, as if English was not his native language. She studied him, noting the dark eyes and the longer hair. Outwardly, it appeared that the man she loved was standing right here. And yet, he didn’t seem to remember her.

  Her heart utterly sank. What if this was not Arik Thorgrim, returned from his voyage at sea?

  What if it was Eric Fielding, the Marquess of Thorgraham?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The young woman staring back at him looked about ready to weep. He didn’t know what to say to her, but the moment she’d thrown herself into his arms, it had been like a jolt of lightning.

  She was familiar to him somehow, though he couldn’t understand in what way. The soft scent of her skin, the honeyed hair, reminded him of a fey spirit.

  “I—I’m so sorry. I thought you were…someone I once…” She shook her head, unable to speak. “I should not have thrown myself at you like that.”

  He wanted to ease this beautiful woman’s embarrassment, for he didn’t mind at all that she’d embraced him. She clearly held strong feelings for him, and from deep within came the desire to know the truth. Who was she? And how had he known her?

  Other memories began surfacing. He knew the taste of this woman’s lips, and he sensed the softness of her body.

  “There was more between us, wasn’t there?” he said. Without asking permission, he took her arm in his. He wanted to speak with her alone, to understand what had happened between them. But he was interrupted by a small boy who came running forward, trailed by a dog. “Mr. Thorgrim! I’ve missed you!”

  The child threw himself forward, gripping his leg. It was a shock to suddenly be hugged by a young boy for no apparent reason. The dog’s tail was wagging, and the animal jumped up, licking him with enthusiasm.

  Gently, he pushed the dog down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “I am glad to see you, too, boy.” He struggled to remember the child’s name, but could not do so.

  “You promised to teach me how to hunt,” the boy said. “Can we go tomorrow? I’m going to live here now.”

  The boy’s eyes held such hope, he nodded. “I will teach you.” Joy brightened the boy’s expression, and he hugged him again.

  Warmth filled him at the child’s affection, easing his immense loneliness. “Over in the gardens, there is a large tree with a ladder and a small shelter,” he told the boy. “You could go exploring.” He pointed toward the gate, and as soon as he’d made the offer, the child was off and running toward it with the dog following.

  The young woman watched her son, a sudden softness stealing over her face. Her name was on the edge of his memory, taunting him. He led her inside the house, wanting to know more about her.

  “Your father sent me with a letter,” she told him. “He…gave me permission to stay here.” Her face dimmed a moment and she said, “I suppose you know that he died a few weeks ago, the night you—that is, the last time I saw you.”

  Another memory slammed into him without warning. A life must be given to take your place.

  His head ached as he tried to understand what had happened. It was as if the memories were scattered pieces of a larger vision, but he had not yet put them together.

  For the past two weeks, he’d felt restless…as if his life had been violently disrupted. The servants had welcomed him back, treating him as though he’d been lost at sea. His memories had been tangled up, for this did not seem to be his life or his house.

  And yet it was. He’d walked through each of the rooms, and faint memories were evoked in this place. He knew the portraits and the names
of the servants.

  But it felt as if he had been put back in a place where he did not belong. He could not reconcile himself to this house or this life…until now. Until he had seen this beautiful woman.

  She removed her bonnet, and he glimpsed hair the color of dark gold. Clear gray eyes studied him, and she seemed to have gathered her composure. But still, she appeared despondent that he didn’t remember her.

  He led her into the drawing room and rang for tea. And the moment they were alone, he crossed toward her and sat beside her. “You are familiar to me, though I cannot remember your name.”

  Her smile was halfhearted. “I don’t think you remember anything.” She swallowed hard. “You aren’t the person I thought you were.”

  He didn’t know what she meant by that, but it bothered him. “And who am I supposed to be?”

  “You’d think me mad if I told you the truth.” She shook her head, refusing to say any more.

  A harsh emotion rose up within him, and his frustration intensified. He didn’t like seeing her unhappy, especially when he was the cause of it. What was he supposed to remember?

  “Close your eyes,” he commanded. “Tell me about the man you sought.”

  She obeyed and said, “He was strong and bold. A little dangerous, even.”

  When she spoke, her words seemed to unlock memories. He saw himself kissing her, while her body was bathed in moonlight. Within him, there came the need to conquer, to provoke her desire.

  “He wanted to protect me and my son,” she murmured. “And this belonged to him.”

  From her cloak she withdrew a knife. When he examined it, he saw an ancient weapon that fit his hand as if it was made for it.

  This was mine, given to me by my father. Not the duke, but instead by the man who had taught him how to hunt and how to fight.

  There was a softness in her expression, of a woman who had loved deeply. Her dark blond hair framed a face that haunted him. More memories flooded through him, of walking along the coast with her, watching her son run through the sand. There was a sense of rightness being with her.

  He reached out to touch her chin, drawing her closer. Her eyes welled up with emotion, but she did not turn him away. The instinct to claim her soft mouth was too strong, and he leaned in for a kiss. The moment their lips touched, physical memories came crashing upon him. He didn’t know where they had come from, but he did remember this woman. He remembered joining with her on board a ship, the waves rocking the vessel. He remembered touching her, watching her come apart as she arched and cried out his name.

  He remembered surrendering his life to save her son.

  “Arik,” she whispered.

  The name was slightly different, and yet, it was right. He continued kissing her, and when her hands moved to his hair, he pulled her in so close, it felt as if their bodies were merged.

  “Juliana,” he breathed against her mouth. “I do remember you.” The visions were fragmented, but his emotions broke through the fog of memory.

  She gave a tremulous smile, and he could see her fighting back tears. He kissed her again, feeling the rise of longing within him. Her arms wrapped around him, and she met his mouth with desire of her own. Past and present collided, and he was powerless to resist the roaring needs.

  He gazed at her, feeling the wildness coursing in his blood. Right now, he wanted her desperately, as if a barbaric part of him had risen to the forefront.

  “We were together not long ago,” he reminded her. The vivid image of her naked body was branded in his mind, and the way he’d taken her hard. “I remember touching you. Claiming you.”

  He cupped her face, and she rested her palms upon his chest. There was uncertainty in her eyes, but her cheeks held the flush of her own desire. “You did, yes.”

  “And there was a child.” He drew his hand down to her flat stomach, wondering if he had only dreamed of this.

  “There could be,” she murmured. “I believe it is true.” She reached up to touch his hair, skimming her fingers down his face. “Do you remember how it was between us?”

  He pressed her back, kissing her hard, until both of them were breathless. “What do you think, kjære?”

  “When you behave like this, I know it’s you,” she whispered. “My Viking, returned to me.”

  And so he was. The tangled memories seemed to grow clearer, and he understood that Freya had indeed granted his wish to return, and he had been placed within this life.

  Arik lifted Juliana up, and she had no choice but to hold tight for balance. The scent of her skin pulled him in, and he kissed her throat. “I gave up my eternity for you. And I would do it again without question.”

  Juliana stared into his eyes and could not deny the truth before her. The man she loved was here again, and the joy inside was so great, she felt as if she could soar upon it.

  It saddened her that the duke was now gone. And yet…she wondered if he might have been the reason Arik had returned. Somerford’s death had been unexpected, but perhaps when the old man had died, he had found a way to plead for mercy in the afterlife. She rested her cheek against Arik’s shoulder, so grateful that he was alive.

  The man who stood before her now was not the duke’s son as she’d feared…he was indeed Arik Thorgrim, the man she loved. The intensity in his eyes pulled her under, and she understood his dark need to claim her. Right now she wanted to join with him, to be one with this man.

  “I don’t know how you were brought back to me,” she said softly. “But I love you, and I intend to savor each moment we have together.”

  He held her as if she weighed nothing, and though he was fully clothed, she could feel the hard ridge of his desire nestled against her.

  “I was given the chance to join my family in Valhalla,” he admitted against her mouth. “But it was no longer what I wanted. I could not go back when my spirit was bound to yours.”

  She rested her cheek against his, reveling in the hardness of his body against her own. “And my heart is bound to you.”

  He drew back and narrowed his gaze at her. “You’re going to be my wife, Juliana. No man will ever lay claim to you, save me.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she already knew her answer. “I will, yes. Though it will likely scandalize all of London.”

  “I don’t care about them. Only you,” he said. “I love you, kjære. And you are mine.”

  She smiled at him. “I never imagined that I would spend the rest of my life with a man who brings a battle-ax into the ballroom.”

  “And I will bring it again if any man dares to threaten you.”

  She laughed, leaning in to kiss him once more. For a time, he remained where he was, holding her close. “Once, I believed I had to die before I would ever find such happiness.” He kissed her softly. “But I’ve found it in you.”

  EPILOGUE

  JUNE, 1812

  Arik walked alongside his wife while Harry ran along the shoreline with the dog Bartholomew. Juliana carried their infant son Gregory, who was gurgling and beaming. Never in his life had he imagined that he would have such a family—a wife who stole his breath every time he looked at her, and two sons who gave him such pride.

  “You cannot imagine how many letters I’ve received from Grandmama,” Juliana was saying. “Apparently our secret wedding last year was the talk of the ton. The gossips are all wanting to know how a fisherman’s daughter caught a duke for a husband.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps they should be asking how a Viking won the heart of a goddess.”

  Juliana’s soft smile was filled with love. “It must be the way you fought for her.”

  He took her hand in his and added, “William Arthur was a fool to let you go. And I hope he loses every last penny he owns.”

  This past spring, Arik had taken his seat in the House of Lords, watching the proceedings. It was not unlike a Viking thing, where his father and other advisors had made decisions regarding laws and had passed judgment. Though he had spoken rarely whil
e Parliament was in session, he was starting to gain a sense of his new position as the Duke of Somerford. He had the older man’s notes and ledgers to assist him as well. And as time went on, the memories given to him by Eric Fielding, the duke’s son, had gradually begun to fade away.

  The most gratifying part of his new life as the duke was witnessing the humiliation of William Arthur, the Viscount Hawthorne. The viscount had lost a great deal of his fortune, gambling at White’s. Two of Arik’s friends, Jack Warwick and Lord Gabriel Stanhope, had assisted him in bringing Hawthorne into greater ruin by appealing to the man’s greed.

  Strangely, Hawthorne had no memory of visiting Juliana on the morning he’d demanded a share of the Viking hoard. It was as if the shooting had never happened. Neither he, nor Juliana, could understand it. It was as if time had reversed itself, erasing the deed entirely. No one remembered anything surrounding his death.

  Perhaps Freya had smoothed out the edges of time, granting him Juliana as the reward for his sacrifice. Or perhaps the old duke had taken his place in the afterworld when the goddess had claimed, a life must be given to take your place. There was no way to be certain. But Arik believed that the strongest reason for his staying was their son, Gregory, who held him bound to the woman he loved.

  Harry was running along the sand, picking up shells and other treasures, when suddenly he called out to them, “Mama! Papa! Come and see what I’ve found!”

  Arik closed the distance, striding along the beach until he reached his adopted son. He knelt down on the sand, wondering what sort of shell Harry had found.

  Instead, Harry picked up a gold ring. “I’ve found Viking gold, don’t you see? It must be part of a treasure!”

  Arik studied the ring Harry had found, while the boy continued to dig in the wet sand with a large stick. A jolt caught him as he recognized it as one his father, Valdr, had given to him, long ago. He slid it onto his finger, and he glanced up at the sky, wondering if his father could see them now. He wanted to believe that there was peace between them and forgiveness.