by Lexy Timms
CELTIC RUNE
The Heart of the Battle Series
Book 2
By
Lexy Timms
Copyright 2015 by Lexy Timms
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2015 by Lexy Timms
Heart of the Battle Series
Celtic Viking
Book 1
US:http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VVK8S5W
UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00VVK8S5W
Celtic Rune
Book 2
US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00WXI50TI
UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/ B00WXI50TI
Celtic Mann
Book 3
Coming June 2015
US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/
UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/
In a world plagued with darkness, she would be his salvation.
No one gave Erik a choice as to whether he would fight or not. Duty to the crown belonged to him, his father's legacy remaining beyond the grave.
Taken by the beauty of the countryside surrounding her, Linzi would do anything to protect her father's land. Britain is under attack and Scotland is next. At a time she should be focused on suitors, the men of her country have gone to war and she's left to stand alone.
Love will become available, but will passion at the touch of the enemy unravel her strong hold first?
** This is NOT Erotica. It's Romance and a love story.
* This is book 1 of a 3 book series *
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Chapter 1
Linzi
Silence surrounded her, the only sound came from the soft panting tumbling from her lips. She hovered just above the blonde, muscular stranger, the borrowed knife buried just behind his head into the hardened earth. She sat still a moment longer, assured her movements would draw him from his slumber and yet he didn't budge.
She needed a few deep breaths to still her rapidly beating heart. Linzi then carefully slipped off of his hip and leaned over for the knife, staring at the beautifully ornate handle. She pulled and pushed against it, her teeth locked tightly together as she worked the weapon free from its hold. She hadn't the courage to take the man's life, or perhaps it was more she wasn't coward enough to do it while he lay dead to the waking world. From the depth she had managed to stick the knife into the earth, she at least knew she had the strength to do it.
She straddled the injured stranger, trying to ignore the wonderful sensation of his warmth between her legs. It beckoned to be tempted further. Nor the now, she scolded herself. This was not the time.
Her body lurched backward as the knife released, the power of her tugging almost giving way to momentum that could roll her down the small hill behind her. She heaved a sigh, bending down to cut a small strip from her gown and wrapping the weapon in the material. She would keep it until he demanded it back or forgot he had ever had it – if he lived. Surely it was worth something in the nearby town. Treasures such as this one were far too difficult to come by. Linzi stood, turning to ensure her solitude once more before looking back toward the Saxon. He was breathtaking, her stomach tightening at the memory of the sensation of his strong hands gripping her, his hips bucking as if sex might grant him healing. “One bloody marking on your shoulder, and all of a sudden you behave like a tart,” she mumbled and stood there a moment longer before realizing she needed to do something with his body. She couldn’t leave him in the field. If she wasn't going to take his life and bury him in the woods, then she had no choice but to help him – maybe back to good health and then shoving him on his way was the only other option.
Unsure of her sense of reason, Linzi decided to stop overthinking and began moving toward resolution. Her eyes drifted over to him once more, the healer in her already working through a concoction she would need to pull from the herb garden just behind the house to offer balm to the wounds on his chest, stomach, and back. It would take more than a quick remedy to fix him, and the chances of his survival might be slim. However, she refused to be the barbarian these beasts trying to take her country were.
She grabbed the kitchen knife laying still on the ground by the Saxon and then hurried back toward the house, the trickle of liquid running down her open palm giving her pause. She lifted her hand, grimacing at the pain caused by reopening the rope burn, which had yet to close from the day before. Blood dripped down her wrist and ran down a crimson line toward her white gown.
"No... damn." She slung her hand, blood decorating the ground before her. The thought of tearing a bit more off her night dressing crossed her mind, but she pushed it quickly aside. It was already too small and tight, another inch off the bottom and she would find herself not only starting to act, but also looking like a tart from the nearby town.
She shook her head and jogged toward the house, slipping into the coolness it offered. She had no time to catch her breath. She tossed the kitchen knife on the table before she checked on her father, ensuring he was still all right. Nothing but serenity greeted her, the fresh smell of honeysuckle pouring in from the door behind her and the gentle snoring of her father. She would check him again before she left the house. It seemed his fever might have dropped, his body no longer pushing heat, like the sun soon would be on the fields behind the house. It reminded her of the pressing matter outside.
She worked quickly to wrap her hand. She would need to get the large man out of the yard and bring him into the house. She had no choice. She couldn’t simply deposit him in the woods and watch over him in there. What if a large animal attacked him during the night? He was much too beautiful to be given over for food.
The Saxon had to be a head taller than her and at least a hundred pounds heavier. She was strong from her years of working on the farm with her father and brother, but to think about lifting him onto a horse or dragging him back to the house from his current location was ignorant. She couldn’t do it. Impossible to do it alone.
She stopped by her father's room again, touching his head. The wetness on his brow and hair assured what she had thought earlier. His fever had broken and though his skin was moist, at least he wasn't still so hot to the touch. He had shifted too far to the right, his lanky arm hanging off the bed, his hand slightly blue from lack of oxygen. She thought of waking him, but decided it might be easier just to pull the sheet from the opposite side of the bed, shifting him toward the middle again. She did just that, her eyes widening upon her success.
"That's it!" she whispered and hurried down the hall to Kenton's room. She ripped the sheet
from his bed and stopped by the kitchen to gather a long rope. She would have to plan it just right, but if she did, the Celt would be up to the house in a matter of minutes instead of hours. She could find the strength to drag him into the house if she could just get him to the front door. Getting him in Kenton's bed would be a whole different story.
The beautiful mare she had tied up earlier stood quietly by the house, Linzi approaching the beast slowly with her hand extended once again. The horse snorted as if not wanting to be bothered, Linzi ignoring her protest as she untied her, brushed her side with her fingers and carefully put the supplies on her back. “Your master’s lying near-dead in the field. I need your help with him. I know you’re tired sweetie, but you'll be glad you did it. Unless he's a bastard." She moved to the front of the horse, looking into her large black eyes as she snorted again. "Is he a bastard?"
The horse pulled back a little and Linzi laughed, taking the animal’s response as a sign that perhaps the Celt was a terror to the lands and all humans within them, but not to his riding companion. She walked the massive beauty back down the hill, the horse stopping and leaning over, breathing in deeply against the Saxon’s hair. The locks lifted a little, his hair seemingly stiff with grime, blood, and sweat.
Linzi moved down the body of the horse, pulling the sheet off and unwrapping the Saxon’s knife she now possessed. She cut two large holes in the material, not too close to the top.
"I hope this’ll work. It’d be a whole lot easier if he just woke up and carried his own self to the house, but life never seems to provide a simple answer, does it?" She glanced over at the horse who simply stared absently at her. "I know you understand me. God gave you a brain and sense to do all you do. Don't look at me like that."
The animal snorted again and looked away, leaning over to pick at a small patch of grass at its feet. Linzi smiled, wishing they had more than the one horse they did own and the little lot of chickens and pigs. She wanted another horse, the last one having gone to the market when times got tough the summer before. It had almost felt like offering a good friend up to be butchered.
She let her wayward thoughts dissipate, standing and forcing herself to focus on weaving the rope into the open holds. She moved beside the inactive Saxon and laid the sheet out beside him, unsure of how to pull him onto it. She straightened and walked around him a few times, the horse making noises beside her as if trying to communicate the proper way to complete the task.
"Hush, lest you wake him." She patted the horse’s snout and knelt down on the side of the man, slipping her hands under his upper back and upper thigh. She gritted her teeth and pulled with all her might, the massive muscles lining his body weighing far more than she expected. He lifted only slightly, but Linzi refused to give up and continued to pull. She fell to her knees, her feet pushing hard in the dirt behind her as he rolled over onto his chest and face, a soft grunt warning her that he wasn't far from consciousness.
"One more time," she whispered, shuffling forward a few steps and starting the process all over again. Her breathing grew labored, her hair collecting sweat as she grunted loudly and pulled, then pushed with all her might. He flipped back onto his back, a soft cough leaving his cracked lips. He was far too close to death's door for her to tarry any longer.
She stood, wiping her hands on her nightgown and looked up at the horse. "Your turn."
Connecting the ropes to the horse’s saddle wasn't too difficult, but getting her to move over hill as the large Saxon rode on the makeshift pulley behind her was testing. She patted the horse's butt multiple times, popping the mare and pulling the reins. After what felt like forever, she finally had the horse tied up in the barn unseen from anyone who might come back, and the dying Viking lying on the sheet at the front entrance to the house.
She stepped over the massive man’s body and walked into the darkness of the kitchen, pouring a quick drink of water and spilling it down her chin and chest. She needed to hurry. The afternoon would soon be wasted for naught and if she didn't finish planting seeds for the harvest, there would be nothing to show for it but starvation and another tombstone on the hill. Maybe two stones and another unmarked one.
She hurried to the door, bending over and lifting the top of the sheet where the Saxon’s head lay. She cried out as the material bit into her wounded hand, the jolt of pain rushing from her palm up her arm. She stood on shaking legs, breathing in deeply and talking herself past it all. With a big heave, she began the momentum of pulling the stranger to her brother's room. She paused at her own door, looking down at the destroyed sheet that once belonged to Kenton. This isn’t going to work.
The Viking would have to take her room. Kenton’s room was too close to her father’s and the door to the house. Plus, no way would she have him resting on an unmade bed, the mattress too scratchy and rough. She would just have to give up her room, wash the tattered sheet below him, fix it and then use it for herself.
Kenton wasn't here anyway. He wouldn't mind her sleeping in his bed… as long as he didn’t know the real reason she was there. For all she knew, he might never return.
The thought created a lump in her throat that burned more than her tired muscles.
She focused again on the impending issue lying at her feet. It was better than thinking about her brother. Making a quick turn, she worked to get the Saxon into her room, his body lying lifeless on the floor below her bed. She knelt down beside him on the floor, leaning over to listen for breathing. He was alive and yet hadn't given anything more than a subtle jerk here and there since she’d dragged him from the field. She sighed softly, standing and walking to the kitchen. Her mother often used witch-hazel to wake them when they were kids. She remembered her mother using it the time Kenton had tried to fly and jumped off the barn roof. He’d landed in a large pile of hay, thankfully not breaking anything, but had bumped his head and passed out. Her mother had used the hazel then. Perhaps it would work now just as well.
Linzi grabbed the small jar of the herb and rushed silently back to the bedroom. She hesitated a moment before quickly fixing her pillow and covers to hold him. She then grabbed a towel and basin, filling it with water and walking carefully back to the room. She got on her knees and washed the Saxon’s chest and face, taking care to not hurt the various scratches and cuts on his beautiful body. The designs drawn on him were vast, his skin more colored than not. It reminded her of the ink still healing on her shoulder.
She wanted to ask him a million questions but knew she never would. It didn’t stop her from wondering things.
Saying a soft prayer to the heavens, she pulled out the witch-hazel and placed it before him, the male breathing it in at a steady rate. His eyes opened quickly, his body jolting him as he looked around wildly. Linzi yelped, covering her mouth, and fell back against the wall afraid her father might hear her and rush in. She should have checked him after she brought the Saxon in.
"Where’m I?” His words were slurred, his eyes growing heavy again. “Who’re you?”
Linzi moved fast, reaching to pull him up before he passed out again. "Yer safe. I need to get you to the bed. On yer stomach."
He grunted, his eyes opening and closing as if exhaustion sat heavy on him. She debated about using the witch-hazel again, but he made an effort to sit. Linzi rushed to his side and slipped his arm around her shoulders. She staggered under his weight when he finally stood, letting her go and pressing his hands to the bed before him. One hand reached up and undid the front of his pants, the breeches falling to the floor around his ankles.
Linzi reached for him as he began to fall forward, helping him onto his stomach and having to reposition him one limb at a time as he passed out again. She tugged his pants from his legs and tried not to stare at the perfect curve of his rear. She grabbed the water basin and towel and finished washing him up, her heart pounding inside her chest. She avoided the areas she thought he might not appreciate much, her gratefulness of him being on his stomach almost overwhelming.
> She'd never seen a man naked, but if it was anything like her more adventurous friend described, she was more than intrigued. If the Saxon’s backside was this appealing, she was terrified to even imagine him the other way... but it didn’t stop her from wondering.
Chapter 2
Marcus
"I don't see why that was bloody necessary. It’ll take me the better part of a week for this damn wound to heal!" Marcus growled at the large man before him, the wrapping around his upper chest biting into the soft flesh under his arms. Why Marcus had even bothered to bow to Halfdan's wishes irked him. He was trained to be in charge, born to lead, and yet this oaf had once again gotten his way.
"Stop your whining! Without the proof of the large wound, there would be no clout to our lies. We need to show the men Erik wounded you—that he turned on you from insanity. It would be his word against yours." The older man reclined in a large wooden chair, his shoulders lifting in a shrug meant to demean Marcus. His tactics were always emotional because the fat arse was physically useless should a brawl be in order.
"I understand that, but I rather prided myself on my appearance before you took a damn blade to the front of my chest. I look like a fucking savage now."
Halfdan flicked his wrist as if the injury meant nothing. "Women love scars, boy. It is the mark of a real warrior. If you would stop tormenting yourself about what you think should be yours, and just enjoy all that's been laid before you, you might know that. Stop crying about not being Erik. Or his spot in the lineage. It means nothing.” He scoffed. “When’s the last time you've forced a tart to beg for pleasure?"
Marcus rolled his eyes and walked toward the opening of the tent, looking out as the men wandered up from various areas, all of them looking worn, their numbers running a little too thin for his liking. "I'm not having this conversation with you. We're not family, nor friends. When do we explain the situation to the men?” That's all he cared about. And the scar that would ruin his perfect skin. Unless it would make others believe he was the warrior that stopped the mad prince.
