She bit her lip and whispered. “Because he didn’t come.”
“So this is your grand plan?” he scoffed. “You nearly froze to death.”
She flushed. “I didn’t anticipate two days of rain.”
He scowled. “You should not have left at all.”
“What would you have done in my place?” she demanded.
“Me?” he laughed. “I never would have let myself be put in such a helpless position. I would have fought to my death.”
“Perhaps that is why I escaped.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps I intended to take back what you stole from me.”
“I stole nothing,” Ivar replied. “Brittany was traded in a secret bargain made by the King of the Franks.”
“What?” Emma choked in disbelief.
“’Tis true,” Ivar said. “In the treaty between Valdrik’s uncle, Rolfr and the Franks, we were given the right to claim this land for ourselves.”
“The Franks have no authority to do any such thing,” she protested. “We are a sovereign kingdom!”
“On the contrary, you are a kingdom divided,” Ivar argued. “And the Franks have had their eyes on Brittany since the death of your King Alain. It was only we Norse who stood between them and you. Duke Rudalt was weak and had many enemies. It was well known that the Breton nobles plotted against him. The Franks have been waiting for the opportunity to make their move. If not for Valdrik, it would have been only a matter of time before they invaded Brittany.”
Understanding came slowly as Emma digested his words. Although she wanted to reject it as falsehood, she knew he spoke truth. Her father had indeed conspired against Duke Rudalt, not only with Count Ebles, but also with the Marquess of Neustria who had also lost lands in the Frank’s treaty with the Norse. He also knew of this secret pact the king had made regarding Brittany.
“Your brother allowed himself to be used by the Franks?” she accused.
“My brother only let them believe what they wanted to believe.” He grinned at the remembrance of how Valdrik had responded to the Frank’s demand to kiss the king’s foot. “But they are gravely mistaken if they think Valdrik will ever pay homage to the Franks.”
“Are you trying to convince me that your invasion was the lesser of two evils?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Think about it. Under the Franks, you would lose your sovereignty altogether. They would impose heavy taxes, loot the land, and conscript your men for the emperor’s army. Valdrik, on the other hand, wishes to unite the land and restore Brittany to its former glory.”
She returned a bitter laugh. “Are you implying I should be grateful to you?”
“I would not go so far,” he confessed, “But I am trying to make you see that I am not the enemy you believe me to be.”
“You seem to think you have already won, but the remaining Breton nobles will fight you!”
“We expected no less,” he replied. “But where are these noble warriors?” He cocked a brow and gestured to the empty fields that surrounded them. “Where is your own betrothed, Lady Emma? If this Count of Poitou wants you, he should be man enough to fight for you.”
“Perhaps he yet will,” she challenged. “Perhaps he was only delayed and is even now on the march.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “Perhaps I piss streams of molten gold.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Do not mock me!”
“I do not mock,” Ivar said. “I am endeavoring to enlighten you.”
“What will you do if I am right?”
“The same as I would have done before,” he replied. “I would ransom you.”
Her throat tightened. “So that is why you have come for me? Only because I am worth nothing to you dead?”
“This is true enough,” he replied mildly. “But I’d also hate to think all my effort in tracking you was wasted.”
“Does your Viking greed know no bounds?” she demanded. The knowledge that she was nothing more to him than chattel to be bargained stung deeply.
His smirk faded. “I only agreed that you are worth nothing to me dead. ‘Tis a fact… but that isn’t the only reason I saved you.” He reached out, tracing the contour of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The tenderness of the gesture took her off guard.
“It isn’t?” she asked, feeling strangely breathless. “Then why?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I came after you because you made a fool of me, but when I saw you so close to death, I couldn’t breathe. I would have cut my own heart out to save you, Emma.”
Emma gaped. Was it true? Why else would he say such a thing?
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Her heart raced as she searched his face. His gaze softened, making him look almost human. Who was this man? Did she know him at all? He was nothing at all like the ruthless, heartless, godless savage she’d first believed him to be. His conceit and arrogance were undeniable, but so was his intelligence, fearlessness, and loyalty.
“Neither do I,” he replied. “Some things are fated to be.”
The air pulsed with tension as he slowly moved closer. Their bodies were shockingly close and indecently unclothed. If he desired, he could just take what he wanted from her, but he didn’t. He stopped a hairsbreadth away … and waited.
She nervously licked her lips as his eyes fixed on her mouth. All she had to do is turn her face away, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to act. She was tired of fighting him, and even more weary of fighting herself.
“What is it to be, Emma?” His question spoken in a low, husky tone rippled like a caress over her bare skin. “Am I your friend or your foe? Your enemy … or your lover?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMMA had never felt so conflicted about anything in her life. She still couldn’t reconcile that her avowed enemy had saved her life. What would she have done had she been in his position? Would she have let him die? Only days ago she would have known the answer, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she gazed into his eyes. She knew what he was really asking and understood that the next move was hers.
She closed her eyes and parted her lips. The attraction between them defied all reason, but the moment his mouth claimed hers it made all the sense in the world. She’d felt so alone for so very long. Her entire life she’d been denied the love and acceptance she’d craved. For the first time she felt wanted, and God help her, she reciprocated his desire.
Emma surrendered to the dizzying sensation of his seeking lips, of his humid breath mingling with hers. His kiss grew more impassioned and more possessive, and she responded, weaving her fingers into his thick hair and pulling him closer. He groaned as his tongue invaded her mouth, slick and swirling, it parried with hers, overwhelming her with pleasure. She reveled in every new sensation—in the lightly abrasive sensation of his bristled face nuzzling her neck, of his hot breath on her skin, of his calloused hands stroking the contours of her body, of their wet and wild tangle of tongues.
His hot mouth was moving down her neck toward her breasts, kissing, licking, biting. She rose up with a whimper as he suckled her breasts. And then arched into him, offering more. He responded as if he was devouring a piece of ripe fruit. And she wanted to be devoured.
***
Through their moans, kisses, and short panting breaths, Ivar registered the sound of brush rustling, followed by violent coughing. “Anders,” Ivar growled. Obviously the man didn’t value his own life. He’d kill him for this interruption.
Emma froze beneath him. Her eyes fluttered open. “What is it?”
“Captain Ivar,” Anders called out, keeping his back to the couple. “Two riders approach.”
Ivar’s murderous thoughts trebled.
“Please! My clothes!” Emma hissed.
Ivar rose, releasing a lungful of curses. He snatched her tunic and robe from the branch where they were hung to dry, pulled on his own shirt and tunic, and reached for his sword. The r
iders, however, were soon identified as Lars and Budic. Lars was first to dismount.
“You found a cottage?” Ivar asked.
“Nay,” Lars replied with a head shake. “We found an army.”
“An army?” Ivar struggled to put his thoughts in order. “How many?” Could it be Count Ebles as Emma had predicted? Was he coming to claim her? Had he been mistaken in not taking the threat seriously?
“Mayhap five hundred men and two hundred horses,” Lars replied.
Damn. He hadn’t expected so many “Who commands them?” he asked.
“That’s the strange thing,” Emma’s servant scratched his chin. “They have the look of a Norse army, yet they fly the pennant of Poitou.”
Ivar’s mind raced. “My brother must be made aware of this. You will ride to Quimper now and warn him,” Ivar commanded Lars. “Tell Valdrik all that you know. He must be prepared. Anders,” he turned to his second man. “Go to Vannes and inform Bjorn he must marshal reinforcements. Go! Now!”
Finally dressed, Emma joined the men, eyeing Ivar with a frown of concern. “What has happened?”
“It seems your wish has been granted,” Ivar said dryly. “Your betrothed comes to rescue you.”
Her gaze widened. “What do you intend to do?”
“I will do as I said I would from the beginning,” he replied blandly. “I will send your servant to Count Ebles with your betrothal ring and this message—If Ebles still wishes to take you to wife, he will pay a suitable bride price.”
“Bride price?” she snorted. “You mean ransom.”
He shrugged. “Call it what you will.”
“How much?” she asked.
He stepped back and eyed Emma appraisingly. Ivar knew in that moment that he couldn’t let her go. He would force the count to fight for her. “I think such a specimen of womanhood should be worth her weight in gold.”
Emma gasped. “‘Tis a king’s ransom! He will never pay it!”
“If he will not pay, he must fight,” Ivar replied.
“And if he doesn’t? Will you keep me prisoner for the rest of my life?”
“Come,” he urged, diverting her from further questions that he wasn’t prepared to answer. “We must return at once to Quimper. My brother needs me.”
“But I can’t ride,” she said. “How can you expect me to get back on a horse so soon?”
She had a point. Only hours ago, she was at death’s door. He could hardly expect her to keep up a hardened warrior’s pace. At the same time, speed was essential with an army only hours behind them. “Damnit! There is no time to waste. We will lead your horse and you will ride with me!”
Ivar quickly repacked his saddle bags with the remaining provisions, threw his fur mantle around her, and put her on the back of his horse. Within minutes, they were galloping toward Quimper.
***
Knowing Count Ebles had assembled an army to fight the Norsemen, Emma had feigned more weakness than she actually felt. If he had indeed raised a force to come to her aid, she was obligated to honor her father’s alliance with him. Although Ivar had spoken of secret pacts that could very well be true, the fact remained that he’d taken control of her home. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to remain with him. Though her feelings had undeniably softened toward him, she couldn’t allow that to affect her judgment. She wished it could have been different, but resolved to do what was best for Brittany and rid the land of these foreign invaders.
She hadn’t counted on being thrown on the back of Ivar’s horse, but consoled herself that the added burden on the beast’s back would still serve her purpose. If she could somehow manage to break away, she doubted Ivar would pursue. He would not waste valuable time in chasing her again. With his brother barely recovered from his wounds, and an enemy soon approaching, Ivar would be needed to take command.
All she needed now was an opportunity to make her escape. She could feel the impatience emanating from every muscle in his body, but even he would have to rest eventually. He ignored her first request for a respite. The second time she pleaded for a moment to relieve herself.
He answered her request with a grumble, but soon pulled to a halt by a stream. Sliding down from the saddle, Emma made her way to the shelter of a thicket, watching from the corner of her eye as he also dismounted to allow the horses a drink. Leaving them to crop a patch of grass, he walked a few paces, and turned his back to her. By his movements, he seemed also to be answering nature’s call.
She had her chance and made her move. Creeping toward her grazing horse, she grabbed the bridle reins and leapt into the saddle, but before she could even turn the animal southward, an iron grip encircled her leg. Next came the explosive force of her body hitting the ground. As she lay gasping for air, Emma once more found herself trapped beneath Ivar’s bigger, stronger body.
His eyes blazed and the veins stood out in his neck as he pinned her to the ground. “What in the Hel are you doing?” he growled.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she gasped back.
“It this how it is going to be between us?” he demanded, looking like he wanted to throttle her. “I can’t even turn my back to take a piss?”
She held his gaze for a long, painful heartbeat. “Nothing has changed, Ivar,” she whispered softly but resolutely. “I will not give up my home to you or to anyone else.”
Ivar rose and strode to her horse who stood several paces away with its ears twitching nervously. Taking up the bridle reins, he returned to Emma. “You will stay in Poitou if you know what’s good for you.”
“And if I don’t” she challenged.
“If you fight me, make no mistake, Emma, I will treat you as a foe.” His menacing demeanor was a testament to his words and sent a shiver of foreboding down her spine. He thrust the reins into her hands. “Go and be damned.”
Emma mounted the horse with burning eyes and trembling hands. He’d freed her at last, so why did her heart feel as if it would burst in her chest? Because mixed with his rage, she’d felt his anguish. Her breach of trust had hurt him deeply.
She’d tried to convince herself that she was no more to him than a pawn to be traded, that she was nothing beyond a ransom to enrich his pockets, but if that were so, he would never have let her go. He would have held her for the payment he’d demanded.
And the ransom itself was ludicrous. She wondered why he had demanded such a sum. He had to know that Count Ebles never would have paid it. Had Ivar known that all along? Her throat tightened at the realization that only hours ago they had nearly become lovers but would soon be facing one another again as adversaries.
***
Ivar turned his back to her, mounted his own horse, and plied his heels, refusing to look back. In his entire life, no man had ever made a fool of him and lived to tell the tale, but this woman had repeatedly made a complete ass of him. And like a dog returning to its vomit, he continued to repeat his folly. She’d betrayed his faith at every opportunity. If given the chance would she do it again? Her answer implied she would. No more. His pride demanded an end to his self-abasing behavior.
He’d treated her fairly. He’d even saved her life and she’d rejected him! To Hel with Lady Emma of Quimper! To Hel with Brittany!
It was time to think of his future. He was obligated to return to Quimper to fight for his brother’s claim, but he had no intention of staying to reap the promised reward. Although he loved his brothers, they each had their own destiny. Valdrik had chosen his path, but Ivar had to forge his own. He was mistaken in thinking he could settle down in this land of his ancestors. There was nothing here to ease his restlessness. Lands and riches would not fill the empty spaces in his soul. A noble title would never change who he really was. Battle alone obliviated the past and gave him a sense of purpose.
He would stay long enough for Valdrik to recover from his wounds, but once his brother was secure in Brittany, Ivar would put his sword up for hire. He’d fight for whoever paid him—until he eventually died in battle.
A glorious death would erase the taint of his birth. Only then would he be remembered, not as the bastard of a bed slave, but as Ivar the Red, a great and fierce Viking warrior.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS NEARING DUSK when Emma arrived at Count Ebles’ encampment. An outrider had met her on the road just north of the camp. At first he’d treated her with suspicion, but once she’d identified herself at the count’s betrothed, he’d extended her every courtesy. He’d even escorted her directly to the count’s quarters, a lavish pavilion where she found him in counsel with several other men.
Dropping her hood, Emma advanced a step and took in his lavish surroundings—vibrant silk rugs and bed hangings that could only have come from Constantinople. This was not a man accustomed to hardship.
The Count approached her with a look of disbelief as the soldier announced her. “Lady Emma of Quimper? How can it be? I thought you dead.” He laid his hand over his breast in a disingenuous gesture. “You can only imagine my distress.”
“Yes. It does require some imagination,” she replied dryly. If she’d thought he was in any great hurry to rescue her, she was sadly mistaken. “My father sent a rider over a sennight ago seeking your aid.”
“You think I can pull an army out of my arse?” he demanded.
“My father understood that you keep a force of mercenaries.”
His beady gaze narrowed. “We will speak of these matters in private. At the moment, I am entertaining company.”
He gestured to his guests who were reclining at a table laden as if for a feast. Among them, she was confused to see two warriors with scarred faces, untamed hair and long braided beards, reminding her all too clearly of her very first impression of Ivar. Were these also Norsemen? What could this mean?
Emma then noticed a woman she didn’t recognize—one who eyed her with open hostility. She returned her gaze with uncertainty. Who was this? Surely no noblewoman would entertain in such an indecent mode of dress. Her head was uncovered and her hair unbound, flowing in wanton waves over her shoulders, and her tunic was the thinnest silk Emma had ever seen. She also seemed far too intimate with the men, especially toward the count.
World of de Wolfe Pack_Ivar The Red Page 9
