Gruff, bearded men were everywhere. But that’s not what had her stunned. No, it was what they were wearing. Just like in Amber’s sketch, just like she’d researched, they wore heavy boots and long tunics cinched by leather belts over trousers. Many had braided beards, braids in their hair or various parts of their head shaved altogether. Tattooed, they carried a variety of weapons including knives, swords, and axes. Thankfully, no guns. Still. Was there some sort of weird biker gang causing havoc around here? Or some Viking raid reenactment? Because who knew nowadays.
Yet shivers were repeatedly racing up her spine.
Something wasn’t right.
That certainty was driven home when her eyes drifted over the cliff to her left and narrowed on the ocean. If her jaw hadn’t dropped before, it did now. Two ships were anchored offshore. And they were like nothing she’d ever seen…beyond historical pictures.
Viking ships.
Her mind cartwheeled. This made no sense. But logic tried to surface. Maine was a state that took pride in anything nautical. So who knows, maybe someone built Viking ships for a local festival.
In the dead of winter, Veronica?
Ignoring her inner voice, she turned her attention back to the terrified women by her side. Better to focus on them than anything else. Voice firm, she met their eyes. “We’re going to be all right. Just stay calm, okay?”
Wide-eyed, they said nothing, just stared at her until their eyes went even wider as a man approached. Jaw set, Veronica turned wary eyes to the behemoth guy who crouched in front of them. Good looking in a fierce way, his head was shaved, displaying a variety of curling tattoos. Two long skinny braids stemmed from his goatee. Sharp golden-flecked green eyes traveled over the other women before they landed on her.
Their eyes narrowed at the same time as they studied one another. There was something familiar about him. As though she’d met him before. But that was impossible. She’d remember. Regardless. There was something. If nothing else, his eye color was identical to Sean’s.
“Name’s Kjar,” he grunted.
Not quite ready to give her name to a perfect stranger, Veronica remained silent.
“Mine. I’ve claimed her.”
Kjar’s eyes never left hers. “So you say, Hamdir.” He eyed her for another long moment before he looked over his shoulder at the man who’d brought her here. “But even you know nothing is officially claimed until the King says so.”
The brute towering over Kjar’s shoulder, Hamdir, frowned heavily. “I found her and laid claim. She is mine.”
Kjar gave no response but stood and steered Hamdir away.
“They’re going to kill us,” one of the women said on a sob.
“After they rape us,” the other said.
Veronica didn’t miss the edge of anger in the voice of the second woman who had spoken so she turned her attention to the petite, scraggly thing. “And once they rape us, what then?”
The woman’s even eyes met hers. “Then we’re passed on to the next.”
Shit. Great. But what else had she expected of this backwoods bunch?
Though she wasn’t convinced in the least, she was about to reassure them all would be fine when someone said, “They've returned!”
Veronica didn’t know what that meant until a group of men broke from the tree line. Wonderful. More tall, bearded, frightening men. Yet even as she thought it something shifted in the air around her and she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Warmth followed by cold then more warmth. It was strange, unusual and set her more on edge than she already was. But it didn’t much matter as men flooded the area with bags of loot and two stopped as though they sensed something.
She knew. Just knew.
It was them.
Raknar and Kol.
Naðr Véurr’s brothers.
As if she’d been walking freely and was suddenly snagged back by a leash around her neck, her head jerked and her eyes shot to them. Taller than the others, it almost seemed they felt the same leash around their necks because their heads whipped her way and their eyes locked on her face.
Oh hell.
Her heart skidded to a halt.
Though everything seemed to be in slow motion, she processed two things. The first, Kjar once more stood close. The second, Kol and Raknar were heading her way.
Megan had called them handsome, but she must’ve been truly smitten with Naðr Véurr to be so vague. Both were broad shouldered, long-legged and well muscled. One had dark hair and eyes black as sin. Yet her gaze was inevitably drawn to the other. Her magazine would have immediately picked him up as a model, to heck with a portfolio. Dressed in a dark brown leather tunic, pants, heavy boots with a fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders, pure confidence radiated off him. So entirely his own entity, this was a man who’d never spent a day of his life worrying about what others thought of him.
With short, sun-streaked blond hair, his remarkably handsome face was shadowed with stubble and his eyes narrowed. It didn’t matter how much distance still remained between them or his hooded gaze, she already knew those eyes were going to be big trouble. Had she been editing an article for a photo spread she would have called them Arctic Icicle Blue. There was no other way to describe their incomparable pale azure depths caught within a paper thin ring of darker, steely blue.
But which was Kol and which was Raknar?
She soon found out when the dark haired man crouched in front of her and cracked a grin, his evaluation a little too thorough. “Loki’s balls, you don’t look a thing like your sister.” His eyes continued a slow, but appreciative roam over her face. “Kol’s the name.”
“My sister,” she murmured then frowned before launching to her feet. She rose so quickly that her bound hands threw off her balance.
The blond, who could only be Raknar, steadied her with a hand to her elbow. Tiny bolts of awareness tingled over her skin. Jesus. Though she was tall at a little over five foot nine, he had her by at least ten inches. Her gaze snapped to his and as she suspected, his eyes were a gateway straight to either Heaven or hell.
Way too intense.
“Raknar,” she whispered, instantly pissed with herself for sounding so winded.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he said softly, his voice a deep baritone that should have soothed, but instead made every muscle in her body lock up tight.
Veronica shook her head, not entirely sure why, just that it felt like reality was sucking her into a whirlpool of emotions that made less and less sense. Looking for something that felt safe, or at least far safer than looking into his steady gaze, her eyes shot to Kjar and she spoke hoarsely, “Megan…is she here…am I… have I…”
Damn it, Veronica, get a grip.
Kol stood and she stepped back, instantly overwhelmed by the brothers. Meanwhile, Kjar took her elbow and attempted to steer her away. Yet she froze, suddenly aware of not the men standing nearby but the women she was about to walk away from.
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m staying with them.” Then, realizing her thoughts and words were going in several directions she focused on Kjar’s face because, believe it or not, he made her feel the calmest. “Is Megan here?” She swallowed hard and pushed impossible words past her lips, stamping out panic as best she could. “Have I traveled back in time?”
Kjar, Kol, and Raknar made no move, just watched her closely as Kjar answered. “Yes. You’re in ninth century England. We set sail for home soon.” His voice gentled. “Megan is there.” Then he cocked his head, eyes never leaving hers. “And you are…Veronica or Amber?”
Answering him would make all of this far too real. Veronica clenched her teeth and wished she could cross her arms over her chest protectively.
“She is Veronica,” Raknar said before he strode away.
Riveted, she watched him go. How did he know that? Then again, did he? Yet chances were if she had truly traveled through time then they already knew she was from the future and that Megan truly was her sister, as was po
ssibly implied…right? Teeth grinding, she inhaled through her nose and tried not to think about what else her sister had said about the Viking king and his brothers.
Part dragon.
She shook her head. Impossible. Myth. Unthinkable. Not reality.
Compartmentalizing everything that frightened her right now, she focused on the present, eyes still on Kjar and played the part “Why did I end up here and not with my sister?”
“Örlög,” Kol replied. When she looked at him in confusion, his eyebrows perked. “Wyrd?”
When she shook her head, lost, Kjar said, “Destiny.”
Overwhelmed by it all, she continued shaking her head. “No, my destiny doesn’t lie here.”
“No, not here, not in England.” Though the word England clearly soured his tongue, a fresh grin spread over Kol’s face. “But with us in Scandinavia.”
Right…because they weren’t modern day bikers but ninth century Vikings. A fresh headache blossomed. This couldn’t be happening. She had to be dreaming again. Her hand snaked into her back pocket, both curious and protective.
The stones were still there.
So was something else. All she could tell was that it felt about the size of a tube of lipstick.
“I found her,” Hamdir informed Raknar as they gathered up supplies. “She is mine.”
Veronica couldn’t hear Raknar’s response but based on Hamdir’s scowl it wasn’t what the man wanted to hear.
Raknar’s eyes went to Kjar. “It’s time to go. Release the women.” His eyes landed on Veronica. “Not her.” Then disgust flickered over his features before they smoothed. “But for Odin’s sake, free her arms.”
Of course they wouldn’t be letting her go. And honestly, she didn’t want them to if they could lead her to Megan
Kjar cut the women’s bindings as well as Veronica’s.
The women whimpered with relief and Veronica crouched, eying them both. “See, they’re letting you go.”
“You speak their language,” the brunette accused. “You’re one of them.”
Veronica shook her head. “No, I speak your language.”
Then it occurred to her. If she were truly in ninth century England, nobody here, including the women, should speak modern day English. But she remembered Megan telling them how her stone apparently allowed for language barriers to be crossed. The Vikings had understood her as clearly as she did them.
Now was not the time to try to explain anything to these women though. Veronica removed her jacket and wrapped it around the frailer of the two. When she saw the other had no shoes, she pulled off her boots and handed them over. Wary, the woman stared at her for a long moment before she snatched the boots and put them on in a flurry.
Then the women just stared at her, grateful but still terrified.
“Go.” Veronica urged. “Now!”
One took off but not the other. Her eyes held Veronica’s as she whispered, “Run, just run with us.”
“No.” Veronica nudged her. “You go. I’ll be fine.”
The girl stared at her long and hard, unsure, before her eyes skirted over far too many men and she darted off. Relieved but tense, Veronica’s eyes turned back to…Kol. Because Kjar had already tromped off to join the rest.
Solid smirk in place, Kol’s eyes traveled from her socked feet up over her jacketless body until his eyes met hers, words murmur soft. “Well, aren’t you something.”
Before she guessed his intentions, he scooped her up into his arms and strode after the men. Though tempted to say she could walk fine on her own, even she wasn’t such a fool. She had just given up her boots and the ground was nothing but snow and ice. That aside, being in this man’s arms without so much of a murmur of discontent didn’t seem quite right.
“Would you have let those women go?”
“Never,” he said, still grinning. “They were pretty enough and I would have given them much pleasure.”
That’s what Veronica figured. Yet, she’d established what she needed to. Raknar was in charge of this expedition. But then hadn’t Megan mentioned that he was the middle brother and next in line to be king?
Her musings vanished as Kol easily traversed the slippery path down to the shore and her eyes once more locked on the ships. Though Megan might be the sister who had gone back to her roots, Veronica had been raised by a fisherman as well and spent a great deal of her childhood playing on the shores of the Atlantic. Like her sister, she’d spent ample time on boats. Yet only smaller vessels went out off the coast of Hampton, New Hampshire. Those that loomed before her now were easily ninety feet long and pure history.
Drekkar longships.
Known best for raiding and plundering, they were beautiful with their ornate carvings, intricate dragon prows, and striped sails. Near numb, it all seemed impossible to process. Even when plunked in a small boat and rowed out toward the ships, Veronica still couldn’t wrap her mind around any of it. Not the cold, salty wind on a shore so unfamiliar or the barbarians around her.
About the only thing that snapped her out of her less-than-subliminal reverie was when they pulled up alongside one of the ships. Raknar had hopped onto the edge and looked down as though he were the devil come for her soul.
Kol hoisted her onto the ladder and slapped her behind. “Up then, woman.”
Did he really just slap her ass? Hell, he sure did. Grinding her jaw, mortified but not about to cause friction right now, she climbed. Waves listed the ship back and forth and it meant pulling on years of practice to move somewhat smoothly. She’d nearly reached the top when Raknar grabbed her wrist and pulled her up.
Veronica’s skin heated and sparked as he wrapped an arm around her waist and swung her down into the ship. Unlike Kol’s obvious comfort in touching her, Raknar released her right away.
But not his eyes.
Within inches of one another, their gazes held. Though it was only a few heartbeats, the moment stretched, punctuated by the flare of his pupils, the catch of her breath. In that brief connection, she saw so much. Interest. Distrust. Confusion. Pride. Then he pulled away only to return a moment later. He urged her to sit on one of the bench seats between the men getting ready to row.
Raknar said nothing as he crouched and slid boots onto her feet. Though clearly meant for a man, he cinched the ties and pulled them snug. Then he stood and with a quick flourish removed his fur cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Tongue-tied, she meant to thank him but couldn’t get the words out before he strode to the front of the boat, voice curt. “Ready the ship. We leave soon."
Everything became a flourish of activity. Chests of loot were loaded and men moved fast. Veronica wrapped Raknar’s cloak tight as rows upon rows of men started to dig their oars into the sea. Muscles flexed, bodies strained, but all the while Raknar stood just offside of the prow, face to the wind. The ship started to navigate through the choppy water, gaining speed before he tilted back his head, as though sensing something.
Suddenly, he roared, “Sail up!”
As if they had been waiting their whole life to do as much, men scrambled to raise the sail while others pulled in their oars. A well-orchestrated unit, all worked together smoothly. Something she always wished she could get the hang of, the thrust and ebb and know-how needed on the sea.
“Eyes to the water and you’ll get a sense of it, Veronica.” When she hesitated, her father looked at her with disappointment. “This is simple fishing girl. If you can’t get the hang of this, what will you get the hang of?”
Veronica blinked, remembering her father’s words from so long ago. Then, as sharply as the memory surfaced, the sail raised and the ship lurched, returning her to the present. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but grin as the wind filled the square sail and woosh, the Drekkar took off.
Waves slapped against the side and the sea sprayed, coating her lips with a layer of salt before she tucked her nose beneath the fur and inhaled. Her breath caught. Though it might’ve been the thrusting power of the
ship as it cut through the water, she knew better. No, she’d suddenly become aware of the scent of the fur tucked against her skin.
His scent.
Fire and chill. Mild spice. Winter. Pine. Snow. Sea.
Male.
Raknar.
Startled, her eyes shot to him. Though he still stood a good sixty feet away by the dragon prow, strong legs spread to brace him as the ship crested waves, his gaze was on her. It was as if he sensed the very moment she brought him into her lungs. Veronica exhaled slowly, breath shaky as she held his eyes. Who are you? But knew she didn’t want to know the answer. As if he agreed, Raknar turned away and faced the sea.
To interrupt the moment or because he simply couldn’t help himself, Kol plunked down beside her and grinned. “You like this, yes?”
It was hard to say why but Veronica was quickly becoming comfortable with Kol. Actually, maybe it was no great mystery at all. He reminded her of Amber. If the two of them shared a first and last name, it would be Lusty Flirt. Because when not with Sean, her little sister was horribly…wait, there was a word for men who acted this way, womanizer. So Amber would definitely be a manizer. It might be online slang, but it worked.
Veronica shrugged. “I like the ship. The rest, undecided.”
“Are you undecided then?”
Caught off guard by the speculative tone of Kol's voice, she held his gaze. But his sudden intenseness soon lifted when a sharp gust bolstered the ship forward and he patted her knee. “I’m off to man the rudder.”
Then he was gone.
The remainder of the day became one of expert sailing as they rode the outskirts of a storm. She had never seen anything like it. A black, roiling cloudbank remained on their right, a leaden gray sky on their left. All the while, Raknar sailed the heavy winds while keeping them just beyond trouble. Nonetheless, the seas were rough, the waves easily fifteen footers.
But the man had skill.
They stayed just close enough to the storm to take advantage of its wind. Lightning flickered beneath the bellies of the clouds and thunder rumbled. Though the energy in the air was powerful and thorough, her eyes kept drifting back to Raknar as he on occasion motioned to the other ship while strolling along his own. He talked with men half the time and eyed the ocean and sky the other half. All the while he directed and kept the ship out of harm’s way.
Viking Claim (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors Book 2) Page 3
