Stolen by the Viking

by Michelle Willingham

  The other man reached for her, and Breanne reacted on instinct, striking his head hard with the branch. He stumbled backwards, but it did not diminish her fears. Her hands were shaking as she gripped the branch, trying to defend herself. Although she knew she was no match for these men physically, she had to push them back or die trying.

  Over and over, she called out for help, hoping someone would hear them. Their greatest weakness was being tied together. It limited Rurik’s movements, and she could not run. ‘Give me one of the daggers,’ she muttered underneath her breath. ‘I’ll give you this branch. I need to cut us free.’

  He gave no sign that he’d heard her, but when he drove back one of the other assailants, he handed her the blade and she exchanged it for the branch. While he kept the men back, she sawed at the ropes binding them. Within moments, she was free. Rurik fought with renewed vigour, now that they were separated. She tried to give him back the blade, but he would not take it.

  ‘Keep the dagger and run,’ Rurik ordered. ‘I’ll hold them off.’

  ‘If I do that, we’re both dead,’ she insisted. Their only hope of survival was to fight together. If they separated, it would be too easy for the men to overpower him.

  Inwardly, she gave up a fervent hope, Alarr, we need you.

  If he and the other Lochlannach could only find them, there was a grain of hope. Her stomach twisted with fear as she stood at his side. She prayed that the gods would have mercy upon them.

  Oisin smirked and eyed his companions. ‘When I’ve finished with her, you can have her next.’ He reached for her fallen rope, but Breanne jerked back, keeping away from him. He only laughed, and she realised they were toying with her.

  ‘You need to get help,’ Rurik uttered. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

  ‘I can’t leave.’

  In answer, he gave her a hard shove. ‘We will die if you don’t. Take my blade and go!’

  Breanne seized her skirts and ran towards the thickest part of the woods, back in the direction of the settlement. Both Oisin and another man pursued her, which was likely why Rurik had demanded it. He had a better chance of surviving against two enemies than four. But she couldn’t get caught.

  Breanne ran as fast as she could, towards the densest part of the forest. She dodged in between saplings, knowing it would slow Oisin down when he could no longer ride his horse. The men were closing the distance, and she gripped the dagger Rurik had given her.

  Over her shoulder, she saw Oisin riding hard towards her while the first man pursued her on foot. Without warning, her foot caught at a hidden root and she went sprawling to the ground. Her wrists ached from landing on them, and she forced herself to grab the dagger and flee. Another tree branch scratched her face, but she barely felt the cut.

  Within moments, Oisin caught up to her. He grabbed her arm, twisting her wrist until she cried out and the dagger fell from her grasp. Pain radiated through her as he pulled her atop his horse. He gripped her hair and used it to push her down, so that her head hung over one side of the horse in front of him on the saddle. She could not tell where the other man had gone.

  ‘Did you think I would let you go?’ He drew the horse into a walk, guiding the animal back towards the place where they had left Rurik. ‘You belong to me, Breanne. You always have.’ His voice was silken, and it made her skin crawl.

  She tried to remain calm, but inwardly, she was trembling. Was Rurik still alive? Would anyone come for her? The blood rushed to her face, and she felt a wave of dizziness.

  You need to think clearly, her brain warned. Find a way to escape.

  But a sudden noise caught Breanne’s attention. Oisin would not let her raise her head, but she heard him grunt as a man dropped down from the trees and pulled Oisin from the saddle. She lost her balance and landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

  Though she could hardly breathe, her heart filled up with gratitude when she saw Alarr. His dark hair was pulled back with a cord, and his blue eyes burned with fury. He jerked Oisin to his feet and punched the man across the face, splitting his lip. He cursed at him in the Lochlannach tongue, and although Breanne could not understand a word of it, there was no denying Alarr’s fury.

  She tried to stay out of the way, and her lungs burned as she tried to calm herself and catch her breath. But then she caught the gleam of iron and saw Rurik’s fallen blade at Oisin’s feet. Her enemy feigned surrender and took another blow to the jaw before he dropped facedown to the ground.

  Alarr reached towards the man, and Breanne warned, ‘He has a blade.’

  Just as she’d predicted, Oisin swung with the dagger in his grip. He barely missed Alarr, who stumbled backwards.

  This time, she caught the sudden wariness from Alarr as he struggled with his balance. Although he had caught Oisin by surprise, their enemy took command of the fight. He charged forward and as Alarr tried to sidestep, his leg slipped, and he lost his footing again.

  Oh, no.

  Her courage faltered, replaced by sudden fear. She knew that Alarr had once been a powerful warrior. The heavy ridged muscles gave evidence to that. But for the first time, she saw him falter in battle. He had hidden his weaknesses so well, she’d never guessed how badly he’d been wounded until she’d seen the scars for herself.

  ‘My brother cannot fight any more,’ Rurik had said. And now she witnessed his struggle as he tried to defend himself. Oisin used the advantage and pinned him down. Fury blazed in Alarr’s eyes, and he used brute strength to shove the man away. He rolled over to avoid the dagger and then stood—only to have his knee give out again.

  We’re going to die, Breanne thought. Unless I do something. She couldn’t just stand back and watch this—not when she could help Alarr.

  Oisin started to charge again, but this time, Breanne had no intention of letting this fight continue. She picked up a large stone and threw it at him as a distraction. He spun, and that gave Alarr the chance to take him down. He dragged his enemy against a fallen log and struck the man’s face, beating him in a violent rage, as if to lash out at his own weakness. Breanne could hardly bring herself to watch, but before she could move, a second attacker came out of hiding. She called out a warning, and Alarr dodged the death blow, using the man’s momentum to push him into Oisin. The man could not stop his motion, and his dagger sank into Oisin’s shoulder. The Irishman roared with fury, and he tore the weapon free, slashing his own kinsman’s throat.

  By the gods, she’d never seen such savagery. If Oisin would kill his own kinsman, what would he have done to Alarr or to her? Breanne scrambled backwards, and Alarr helped her on to the horse. He was about to go after Oisin, but the man dropped to his knees, his face grey from blood loss.

  ‘Leave him,’ Breanne said. ‘Rurik needs you now.’ She didn’t know what had happened, but they needed to find him.

  Alarr claimed Oisin’s mount and swung up behind her. She guided the horse back to where she had left his brother. Along the way, she tried to calm the tremor that held her emotions captive.

  ‘Did you run away?’ he demanded. ‘Or did my brother take you?’ In his voice, she caught the tone of accusation.

  ‘I didn’t run,’ she insisted. ‘This was Rurik’s plan, not mine.’ She wanted to tell him more, but they were nearing the place where she had left his brother.

  Rurik sat on the ground, holding his bleeding arm. Two men were dead beside him, and Breanne breathed a sigh of relief that he’d survived. Thank the gods.

  Alarr dismounted and she followed his example, tearing off a length of her skirt to use as a bandage. She went to Rurik and bound his arm for him, asking, ‘Are you all right?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s not deep.’ For a moment, he spoke to his brother in their native language, and she caught the concern in Alarr’s voice. He helped Rurik rise to his feet, and they argued for a moment.

  ‘What’s wrong?’
she asked.

  ‘I’ve told Rurik to take the horse, and he’s being stubborn. He thinks I need to ride.’ The dark look of frustration revealed Alarr’s annoyance. His limp was more exaggerated than usual, and she knew that he was angry at himself for it. Rurik claimed that Feann had caused his limp...but it was more than that. The wounds had healed, but Alarr would never again be the same fighter. He had proven himself to be fierce and strong—but one misstep in battle could end his life.

  ‘Were you hurt during the fight with Oisin?’ she asked him quietly.

  ‘It’s always this way after I run,’ he gritted out. ‘Riding won’t change it. It’s not from exertion.’ He pointed towards the trees and added, ‘My horse isn’t far from here.’

  Breanne understood that he did not want to show any sign of weakness while his brother was wounded. To Rurik, she said, ‘You should ride until we reach Alarr’s horse. If you don’t lose any more blood, your wounds will heal faster.’ Then she turned back to Alarr. ‘I will walk beside you until we reach your horse. Then we’ll ride together.’ She intended to keep her pace slow, for both their sakes.

  Rurik didn’t seem pleased, but his complexion had gone pale from blood loss. He had killed both men, but he appeared dizzy from the wounds. ‘Fine,’ he gritted out.

  Alarr gave a single nod, but she could tell his pride was wounded. He tried to disguise his limp, but it was nearly impossible.

  ‘How far is it to your horse?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not going to fall over, if that’s what you were wondering.’ He pointed towards the clearing. ‘My horse is just outside those trees.’

  Again, she could hear the rigid pride in his voice. She wondered if he would want her to rub the medicine into his scars again, from the pain he was trying to mask. The thought of touching his bare skin made her breathless. After this day, she wanted to feel his body against hers, to fall into his kiss and forget about the danger they’d narrowly avoided. But she pushed away the idle daydreams. She knew it was foolish to imagine there would be anything between them.

  ‘How did you find us?’ she asked. ‘I had hoped someone would hear my screams, but the settlement is so far away.’

  ‘I tracked you both and rode outside the forest for what I thought would be the right distance. Then I heard your scream.’ As they walked alongside one another, his hand brushed against hers. ‘I stayed hidden because of the other men.’

  ‘I am so glad you came,’ she murmured. ‘If you hadn’t been there...’ She didn’t want to imagine the outcome. Oisin would have taken her as his slave and concubine, punishing her for refusing his suit.

  Rurik leaned against the horse, closing his eyes from the pain. Breanne watched him for a moment, but it seemed that he was managing to keep his balance on horseback.

  ‘Why did my brother take you?’ Alarr asked. ‘It’s not like him to do something like that. Did you try to coax him into bringing you home?’

  ‘He didn’t want you to confront Feann.’ She knew there was far more to his accusation, but now was not the time to discuss it. ‘We will speak more of it later.’

  As they trudged towards the edge of the trees, Alarr struggled with his limp even more. She let him lean against her for balance, but she could tell from his expression that it embarrassed him.

  His horse was hobbled and was grazing. Alarr untied the animal and helped her up before swinging up behind her. A light rain began to fall, and she shivered against the chill. He drew her against him, offering his own body heat.

  They rode in silence with Rurik on the journey back to the settlement. Her emotions and thoughts were tangled up, for she was so grateful to him for the rescue, despite his struggle. Alarr was a complicated man, she realised. Although his fighting skills had suffered, there was no denying that he had managed to win the battle.

  Yet, she believed Rurik’s claim, that Alarr intended to confront her foster father. If the king had attacked during Alarr’s wedding, then there was no doubt that he would demand vengeance. He had the demeanour of a man who had lost everything. Such a man was dangerous, for he cared naught for his own life. She didn’t know what to think, but she needed to understand his intentions.

  And somehow, she had to stop him from harming Feann.

  * * *

  When they arrived back at the settlement, rain had soaked them through to the skin. Alarr called for the healer to tend Rurik’s wounds, and he was surprised that Breanne remained with them. She appeared worried for his brother, and only when the healer reassured them that Rurik would be fine, did her tension seem to dissipate.

  Alarr limped back to their sleeping space, and she did not speak as they returned to the longhouse. Once they were alone, she reached into a bundle for a dry gown. He stripped off his wet tunic, and when he turned to fetch another, he saw her staring at him. Her green eyes held interest, and he saw that she was clutching the gown to her breast. The linen of her underdress was nearly transparent, revealing the soft skin and curves of her body. Slowly, she dropped the sodden gown, exposing the curve of her breast and the rosy nipples through the sheer fabric of her shift.

  He hardened at the sight of her and the arousal was a familiar frustration. He ached to touch her, and the memory of her kiss made it far worse. But now was not the time. There was fear in her eyes and the innocence of a maiden. She knew nothing of what she was offering. Not truly. It was only the instinctive desire to feel alive after such a close brush with death. His own body was coursing with the same needs, and his honour was slipping.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ she murmured. ‘Do you need me to rub the medicine into your scars again?’

  He should refuse, for it was unwise to have her hands upon him. The thought of her palms caressing his skin was a temptation he could not deny. His body was strung tight, desiring her with every breath that was in him.

  But Breanne took his silence as assent. She went to fetch the box of salve, and he lay upon his stomach, trying to gather the remnants of his control. He focused on the pain in his muscles, of the never-ending ache in the scars. When she smoothed her hands over old wounds, he groaned. But it was not from pain—it was from desire.

  As she touched him, he dug his hands into the furs. Breanne knew the right amount of pressure to ease the tightness in his flesh, followed by a gentle smoothing touch. He revelled in her hands upon him, until she revealed, ‘Your brother said that your wounds were caused by Feann.’

  Her statement was like a bucket of ice poured over his body. He rolled over and sat up. Her expression was guarded, a warning in her eyes. ‘What else did Rurik tell you?’

  ‘He told me that the attack happened on the day you were supposed to be married. And your brother wanted to stop you from causing a war.’

  Alarr wanted to curse, but he held back his anger. He didn’t want to tell her any of it. The memories were too raw, and locking them away was the only way to bear the pain. Instead, he held a stoic silence, keeping his emotions in a block of invisible stone.

  ‘Was Rurik telling the truth?’ she ventured.

  He gave a single nod. ‘I couldn’t walk for over a year. My brothers took me into hiding and I lived with the healers until I recovered.’ The memory of that agony washed over him, along with the feeling of helplessness. He’d been unable to save his father or his wife. Alarr met her gaze and added, ‘Feann killed my father, my bride...and my ability to fight. I won’t forgive him for it.’

  Her face appeared horrified by his confession. Regret and guilt transformed her expression, and she reached out to take his hand. ‘I’m so sorry for what he did to you. I cannot change the past, but you saved my life today. And I am grateful for that.’

  He sensed that she was nervous about something, but he could not guess what. Slowly, she unbraided her hair, letting it fall across her thin shift.

  ‘I thought I was going to die.’ She reached to touch his heart and mu
rmured, ‘But you found me when I was in danger. Not my foster father. Only you.’

  The slight weight of her palm pressed down upon his guilt. Alarr seized her wrist and held it there. ‘Don’t pity me, Breanne.’

  ‘It’s not pity. You won that fight.’ Her green eyes held sympathy, but he didn’t believe her. He had barely managed to keep his balance. One wrong motion, and they both might have died.

  ‘I’m not the man you think I am.’ He leaned in close, meaning to intimidate her. ‘I will have my vengeance against Feann for what he did. And I don’t care who stands in my way.’

  ‘And if I stand in your way?’ she ventured.

  He refused to let her make him into a hero, when he wasn’t. ‘Stay away from me, Breanne,’ he warned. He could smell the aroma of her skin, and he gripped her hand, trying to maintain his control. ‘I’m not safe right now.’

  ‘I don’t want you to be.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck to embrace him, and the fragile hold he had upon his control shattered. He crushed her mouth to his, savouring the taste of her warm lips. She kissed him back, and he could not get enough. His hands moved over her shift, wishing he could tear it into pieces. Instinct claimed him now, and he pressed her back towards the furs, needing her body beneath his.

  Alarr wanted to caress her bare skin, making her crave him as much as he desired her. He knew Breanne’s virginity should belong to her husband. But when her hands slid beneath his tunic to his bare skin, he no longer cared about anything except touching her. He laid her back upon the pallet, kissing the soft skin of her throat. She gasped, digging her fingertips into his hair and arching her back.

  ‘Alarr,’ she whispered, moaning as he tasted her skin. Her eyes were closed, and she bit her lower lip as if she were trying to gather command of her feelings.

  His brain warned him again to stop, but he was past the brink of control. He wanted her to fully understand what she was offering, to taste the danger. And if he could touch her intimately, it might frighten her enough to keep her distance.