“Greenland?” Arabella blinked.
“There are few places more distant.” Darroc lifted the silver-gilt goblet they were sharing and took a long drink of spiced wine. “Or more forbidding. The land is rocky and frozen and the seas are so shrouded with impenetrable mist that many give them the name Ocean Called Dark.”
“He would never stay there.” Arabella couldn’t believe the men had overlooked something so simple. “As soon as Olaf’s men sailed away, he’d leave.”
Darroc shook his head. “Many of Olaf’s men have family in Brattahlid. Men as fierce and unforgiving as the icebound world they call their home. They will be glad for extra labor to help work their farms. And”—he grinned again—“they will ensure that not a single Black Viking escapes.”
“You have thought of everything.” Arabella’s heart swelled with pride.
“It was Arneborg who gave us the idea.” Darroc glanced back toward the darkened longhouse where the shipmaster rested. “Olaf told me Arneborg had mentioned settling in Brattahlid upon his recovery. He—”
“Why would he want to go there if it’s such a cold wilderness?” Arabella rubbed the rock crystal pendant of her necklace. Shaped like a large disc and polished smooth, it was carved with an image of Thor’s hammer. “It seems the last place he’d find welcoming.”
“Nae. He’d find it ideal because”—he looked around the trestle table, then lowered his voice—“he was deeply in debt. Arneborg lost everything with the Merry Dancer. He was a broken man. In such straits even a desolation like the Ocean Called Dark sounds good to a man.”
“But he’s an Orkneyman.” A frown creased Arabella’s brow. “Surely he has family there.”
“He has no one.” Darroc paused when a group of dancers returned to a nearby table, their laughter and chattering voices loud on the night air. “Yet”—he shook his head again—“in the end his very loneliness is what saved him. Apparently he’d spent a lifetime boasting about a non-existent family, claiming royal Norse blood.
“He told Olaf that’s why the Merry Dancer was attacked. Svend Skull-Splitter believed Arneborg’s tales of illustrious connections in Norway and meant to ransom him.”
“And when they discovered the truth, they set him out on the skerry.” Arabella repeated what she’d heard earlier. “How heartbreaking. But”—she blinked, confused—“you said Captain Arneborg was a broken man. It seems to me that he still is, considering.”
To her surprise, Darroc grinned. “He isn’t now.” He cut a look toward the clearing where couples whirled in a blur of flying heels and arms. “Do you see Arnora Ship-Breast?”
Arabella followed his stare, her own falling at once on the dancing Norsewoman. Her gown’s bodice was cut precariously low and her huge breasts bounced wildly as she jigged, their generous swells glowing white in the moonlight.
Arabella’s gaze snapped back to Darroc. “Don’t tell me there’s something between her and the shipmaster?”
Darroc’s grin said there was. “So it is claimed. And apparently it’s serious. They were sweethearts once, in their youth in Orkney. When Arneborg went to sea, they never saw each other again until Olaf found the captain on the skerry. Word is Arnora never loved another.” Darroc glanced at her, still dancing. “Olaf offered them one of the fishermen’s huts. The pair plans to wed as soon as Arneborg recovers.”
“You mean Captain Arneborg will be staying here?” Arabella’s throat began to thicken. “Olaf Big Nose has welcomed him into his settlement?”
“Now you see why I said Arneborg was a broken man.” Darroc reached for the wine goblet and took another healthy sip. “He is no more. Some”—he set down the goblet and wiped his mouth with his sleeve—“might even say he’s damned lucky.”
“But his debts…”
Darroc cocked a brow. “Are unfortunate, but do you really think anyone will bother him here?”
“Nae, but—”
“You needn’t fash yourself o’er him.” Darroc slid an arm around her and drew her close. “He plans to save and eventually buy another cog. He’ll go merchanting again someday and then he’ll be able to repay his moneylenders.”
Arabella nodded, horrified to feel a tear slide down her cheek. She dashed it aside before anyone could notice.
Or so she hoped.
“I am so glad everything has worked out so well for him.” She helped herself to the spiced wine, needing something to wash down the lump in her throat. “It would seem things are tying up nicely for everyone.”
Darroc’s arm tightened around her. “Aye, so it does. It lifts my heart to know Arneborg has a good future ahead of him.” He looked at her, his eyes darkening with an expression that made her breath catch. “Had he not thought quickly when the Black Vikings attacked his ship, I would never have found you.”
“Yet you are going to return me to Kintail when we leave here.” The words escaped before she could stop them. “You have made your plans. You said—”
“Aye, I have plans.” He touched quieting fingers to her lips. “You have just no’ heard them yet. We shall both journey to Kintail. I intend to ask your father for your hand when we get there.”
“Oh!” Arabella’s heart stopped. The tears that had been misting her eyes now filled them, the stinging heat blurring her vision. “What are you saying?”
Darroc smoothed her hair back and leaned close to kiss her brow. “Things I’d rather discuss with you without so many prying ears.”
He sat back and slid a telling look down the table. Arabella blinked, seeing at once that everyone present was watching them, their faces split in grins. Even those at neighboring tables were craning necks and jabbing each other with elbows.
“Oh, dear.” Arabella felt her face flame.
“Come, let us dance.” Darroc sprang to his feet and—to the cheers of those around him—pulled Arabella up with him, dragging her into the midst of the leaping, whirling dancers in the clearing. “No one will notice now when we slip away,” he promised, already spinning her in a lively circle. “There is an empty hut on the far side of the boat strand. We can be alone there.”
“Alone….” Everything Arabella had ever believed—the imagined horror on her father’s face—made her start to object, but her heart wouldn’t let her say no.
Moonlight spilled down into the clearing and all around them the torches crackled and blazed, making the night shimmer with color and excitement. The other dancers wheeled and leapt, their faces bright with joy and a wild, fiercely tempting abandonment that heated her blood and set her pulse to racing in ways that had nothing to do with the vigorous dance.
It was the magic of the night.
And Darroc.
The love shining in his eyes.
The ground seemed to tilt beneath Arabella’s feet and the stars, so many of them, twinkled as if they were winking at her. She felt herself melting and couldn’t remember having ever been happier. And she wanted this man.
“I will no’ force you, lass.” Darroc grasped her waist then and lifted her high as they spun, whirling ever closer to the edge of the dancers and the dark woods beyond. “We can speak of this at Castle Bane when we—”
“Nae, I do want to be alone with you,” Arabella panted, breathless from the dance. “Now, tonight.”
He who is bold succeeds.
The familiar chant beat in her mind, loud and thrilling as the screaming pipes and cries of the dancers. But something else thrilled her, too. It was the surety that once they closed the door of the fishermen’s hut, they would do more than talking. Darroc would take her into his arms and kiss her again. Quite possibly he’d do more. Perhaps even some of the wickedly delicious things Gelis had told her men and women did when they were in love.
And she did love Darroc MacConacher.
He touched her cheek then, his fingers smoothing back her hair as he looked down at her. She blinked, only now realizing they were inside the wood. Thick trees separated them from the clearing with its blazing, smoking
torchlight and blur of colorfully clad dancers. She hadn’t even noticed he’d maneuvered them away.
“You must know”—he gripped her shoulders, his voice husky—“if you come with me now, I’ll ne’er let you go.”
He couldn’t lie to her.
Not when she’d slid her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair, her whole face shining with the same love and passion that was filling him so completely he was sure he’d soon burst from the glory of it.
“I do not want to leave you.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him, even sliding the tip of her tongue across his lips. “Not this night or ever.”
“Arabella….” He pulled her tight, slanting his mouth over hers in a furious kiss, hungry and demanding. “Then let us be away!” He broke the kiss and grabbed her hand, pulling her through the trees toward the boat strand and the fishermen’s hut where their fate awaited them.
Rustling noises rose behind them then, quickly followed by a woman’s peal of laughter. Darroc glanced over his shoulder and quickened their pace until they burst out of the wood and onto the moon-shadowed strand. Candlelight flickered in the windows of one or two of the huts and smoke rose, thin and high, from the thatched roofs. But each dwelling stood quiet and the curving shore stretched empty save for the dark shapes of the beached galleys and a thick line of seaweed washed ashore by the rolling waves.
“There!” Darroc pointed to the last hut, set a bit apart from the others. It, too, had peat smoke curling from the center hole in its thatch and the door stood ajar, spilling golden light into the darkness. “That has to be the one Jutta prepared for us.”
Then they were there, slipping into the cozy little cottage and pulling the door shut behind them. No less than three tiny braziers crackled softly, filling the single room with the earthy rich scent of peat and a welcoming orange-red glow. A large soot-blackened cauldron hung on a chain over a well-going wood fire and a tantalizing aroma rose from the bubbling venison stew someone had thoughtfully prepared for them.
Whoever it’d been, no doubt Jutta Manslayer, she’d also dressed the single sleeping pallet with stacks of brightly colored blankets.
Arabella’s eyes flew wide and she flushed crimson when she saw them. Darroc reached for her, drawing her to him before she could panic.
“You know nothing will happen that you do not desire.” He rubbed her back as he spoke, hoping to soothe her. “There’s no reason for you to be fearful, you have my word. But”—he gave her his most reassuring smile—“I think we’ve reached a point where only honesty can stand between us.”
“I trust you already. I would not be here if I did not.” She’d stiffened a bit in his arms, but she made no move to pull away.
It was a start.
And it gave him the courage to tell her something that sounded fantastical even to him.
“Sweet lass,” he began, encouraged by the unmistakable longing in her eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but I am convinced we were meant to find each other. I’ve felt it since the moment I first saw you and”—he drew a breath—“I believe I knew it even before then.”
“But how could you?” She pulled back to look at him, her face luminous in the fire glow. “We never met before the sinking of the Merry Dancer.”
“Nae, but I believe I was given a sign.” Darroc released her and went to a tiny oaken table to pour them each a cup of spiced wine. “The night of the tragedy a great many seals gathered beneath Castle Bane’s tower. They were everywhere on the rocks and bobbing in the water. I’d never in my life seen so many.”
Arabella accepted the wine cup he handed her and took a sip. “There must’ve been herring swarming,” she said, smiling. She clearly wasn’t following him. “We have seals in Kintail, too. They always follow the herring.”
“Nae, lass, this was different.” He shook his head slowly. “The seals were singing. They do, you know, though to hear them is a rare and eerie thing. Some say”—he forced himself to speak, feeling silly—“their song is a portent of disaster. Others claim to hear them herald a coming of great wonders and blessings.
“I believe, now, that the seals came to let me know that you were coming into my life.” He set his hands on her shoulders, willing her to believe. “When you told me of your Seal Isles, I was convinced that was the reason.”
“And so you feel we were meant to meet?” She placed a hand to her cheek. He could see the pulse leaping at the base of her throat.
“Aye, I do.” He tightened his grip on her, his gaze holding hers. “And I believe more. I am certain we were meant to fall in love.”
She gasped. “Are you saying you love me?”
“I am.” He swept his arms around her and pulled her close. “More than I would ever have believed possible.”
“O-o-oh, Darroc!” She leaned into him, the entire length of her trembling. “I love you, too. So much!”
Darroc’s heart jumped to hear her say the words. They held so much warmth and feeling, certainly her trust. That trust shone in her eyes as well, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as lovely. Or that moved him more deeply. Whatever hardships stood before them, they’d have done with them, together. Sure of it, he bent his head to kiss the soft place beneath her ear, nuzzling her neck as she eased her shawl off her shoulders.
It slipped to the earthen floor, one barrier between them gone. Although she trembled, she didn’t pull away and gave no sign of maidenly fear. Not even when his lips brushed her hair and, unable to stop himself, he stroked one finger across the bared swells of her breasts.
“I will no’ touch you if you tell me to stop.” He had to give her one last chance to end this. “Say when and—”
“I know what we are doing.” She stepped back, her hands going to the laces of her bodice. “And”—she began undoing them, her chin boldly raised but her fingers shaking—“I want this very much.”
Darroc swallowed hard and lifted one of her braids, drawn by its sheen and silky smooth feel beneath his fingers. He lifted the ebony plait to his lips, knowing a chaste kiss would never satisfy him.
Heat pulsed through his groin and his heart hammered against his ribs, reminding him of how fiercely he wanted her, his need almost a physical pain. An urgency that ripped him, racing out of control as she finished undoing the stays of her gown and it slid down her arms, freeing her thrusting breasts and exposing her nakedness.
“Lass….” He groaned and cupped her fullness, plumping and weighing her firm, pleasing roundness and seeking the taut peaks of her nipples with his thumbs, circling and rubbing until she moaned her pleasure.
He looked down at her, wanting her desperately.
It wasn’t enough to hear her whimpering in need; he wanted her gasping in pleasure. He burned to feel her sliding hot and sleek against him, skin to skin and with their mouths clinging in an all-slaking, ravenous kiss. He ached to take her at last, joining their flesh as he knew their hearts already beat in steady, loving rhythm.
“I want you naked.” His voice was deep, pure desire streaking clear to his toes, banishing reason and everything but his urgent need to possess her.
“Then take me.” She wriggled out of her gown, kicking it aside when it slithered down her legs to pool in a froth of colored silk at her feet. “I am yours to do with as you will and”—she shivered in the cold air—“I yearn to be one with you.”
She leaned into him, arching and rubbing against him in ways that would have brought a lesser man to his knees. The cool smoothness of her thighs sent flaming heat pouring into his loins and the soft brush of her maiden hair threatened to steal his wits if he couldn’t soon claim her.
“Christ Jesu!” He stared at her bounty, sure he’d spill before he even savored her slippery, molten-hot charms. She locked her gaze on his and the passion simmering in those sapphire depths fired his blood. Her womanhood pulsed against him, damp with her arousal.
“I think you would unman me!” His voice was strangled, his own desire almost a to
rment.
“I would be bold!” She sounded breathless, her hands sliding beneath his plaid to find and caress his skin. “We have both waited long, I’m thinking. Now”—she smoothed her hands up and down the sides of his ribs, then reached down to cup his buttocks, digging her fingers into his flesh and pulling him near as she thrust her hips against him—“now, it is time for us to seal our destiny.”
“Arabella….” Darroc threw off his plaid, biting hard into the side of his cheek lest he toss her down onto the hard-packed dirt floor and thrust into her.
The saints knew he was ready!
Instead, he held back and stifled the burning rush of his release. But he did groan as he swept his hands up and down her tempting, silky smooth curves. He wanted so much of her. There wasn’t an inch of her lusciousness he didn’t burn to explore, gentling her first with his hands and then using his tongue to bring her ecstasy.
“You take my breath.” He twined his fingers in her hair, lifting a handful of glossy, ebony strands to his lips.
“You are my breath.” Arabella seized his face with her hands and drew him to her for a searing kiss. She drank greedily of him, needing his taste and essence as fiercely as she needed air.
She drew back to peer at him. Her heart thundered at her daring, but even as her palms dampened and her belly quivered, cascades of delicious shivers rippled through her. It excited her to see how eager he was to claim her. Desire twisted inside her and her female place clenched hotly when he stood back and held his arms out to his sides as if he understood her need to look. He was magnificent in his nakedness, all male hardness and perfection. The fire bathed him in shades of red and gold, making him seem like a pagan god striding forth from some passionate fiery realm to possess her.
And she wanted to be his.
So much that she felt her herself growing hot and tingly between her legs. She became aware of dampness misting her thighs and a strange insistent throbbing that both frightened and exhilarated her. It was a wondrously delicious weightiness her sister had told her to expect. Feeling it now, and knowing its meaning, was a miracle, a woman’s triumph that she’d never thought to experience.
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