She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “You do, but not because of your missing hand,” she rasped, laying a hand on her sore throat. She tried to put as much hatred into her eyes as she could, wishing she could burn him to ashes with a look. “It’s your personality that makes you so offensive.”
To her consternation, Tyr chuckled. He released her and shoved himself up off the bed. The cold air that settled over her body served as a reminder of how hot his form had felt against her and as outrageous as it was, her body seemed to miss that heat now. The glitter in his eyes as he grinned at her told her better than words that he knew what she was feeling, and the wink that followed the grin was as clear an offer as he could have made.
As he swaggered out, Ingrid couldn’t help but call after him.
“Aren’t you going to make me swear not to wreak vengeance on you after you’ve returned me home?” She dropped her voice to a growling threat. “After all, there are so many terrible things I could do to you.” Will do to him, she promised herself.
Tyr turned with one foot already out the door. “That’ll be days from now, min skatt. By the time we say goodbye, such a promise won’t be necessary.” He winked at her. “By the time that day rolls around, you may find yourself thinking less of all the terrible things you can do to me…and more about all the wonderful things I could do to you.”
Chapter Three
Forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours and already she causes me trouble.
Tyr stared down at his red-faced crewman with a look that had made more than one man scuttle into the brig for his own protection. The man’s eyes widened, flashing too much white. He twisted his dark blue cap in his hands, nearly reducing the pathetic piece of cloth to a handful of loose threads.
“Are you questioning me?” Tyr kept his voice low, almost a whisper. As if to speak any louder would risk releasing his fury.
The crewman swallowed hard. “Not q-questioning, Captain. But th-that woman—”
“Is none of your concern. I am the captain of this ship.” Tyr drew his sword, brandishing the blade to catch the sun just so, sending a beam of light slicing into the man’s eye until he winced and looked down. “Forget the woman. Return to your duties. When we dock, you will be leaving this ship and taking your cowardice with you.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a low growl. “Whether you leave on your own two feet or without them is a matter I will ponder on the way.”
The last threat was delivered as he shifted his left arm, deliberately drawing the shaking man’s attention to Tyr’s own severed limb. The crewman’s eyes widened even farther, his skin paling to the shade of sea foam. He nodded hard enough to jar his brain loose from its moorings and scrabbled backward across the salt-encrusted deck. Tyr stared him down, knowing the eyes of his men were on him, watching for some sign of mercy—some sign of weakness.
The witch has gone too far.
Without another word, Tyr stormed off to his cabin. He let his anger show on the twist of his mouth, the heavy thud of his boots. In this situation, his anger would serve him well, letting his crew know that the woman would not escape her share of the punishment for the mutinous air swirling about the ship. He opened his mouth at the same time he jerked open the door, ready to let the witch have it loud enough for the entire ship to hear.
The sight before him robbed him of speech. His throat closed, mercilessly trapping his scornful words in the realm of the unspoken, and he could only utter a silent prayer that he hadn’t been struck dumb permanently.
Bare skin. Not just bare skin, but perfect, smooth, creamy skin that even from here smelled of succulent fruit. Rosy nipples coiled into tight buds called to him, heating his blood until his mind filled with a warm haze. Supple curves sang to him, luring him closer like a siren perched on a rocky shore, begging him to run his palm over the tempting mounds of bare flesh. He’d actually taken a step forward before he remembered himself. He halted and jerked his gaze up to meet mossy green eyes crackling with ire.
“When you promised gentlemanly behavior, I must say I thought you had a better grasp of the concept,” Ingrid snapped. “Or does your definition of gentlemanly behavior not include knocking before you enter a woman’s room?”
Tyr couldn’t help the small sound of disappointment that escaped him when she jerked her dress the rest of the way up, hiding the assets he’d only had moments to glimpse. As her flesh vanished behind the proper lines of her sapphire silk dress, the spell broke. Like a fast ship parting thick fog, his earlier anger returned full force and he scowled.
“My room, witch, not yours. And do not speak to me of promises. It was agreed that you would show me respect in front of my men.”
Ingrid shrugged, her pale shoulders bared by the cut of the dress, and strode over to his bed. She flopped down on the battered mattress amidst tangled furs and picked up a worn leather-bound journal that she’d obviously been reading earlier. “Are you saying I’ve been disrespectful?”
“Thirty members of my crew never returned from shore leave at the last port.” Tyr crossed his arms, resting the stump of his left hand on his right arm where she could get a good look at it. “You deliberately frightened them off.” The faded lettering on the book in her hands caught his eye and he dropped his arms to his sides. “Are you reading my personal logs?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ingrid set the book down in her lap, carefully marking her place with a bit of string. She picked at an invisible speck on her dress. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
Tyr’s blood boiled, making the veins in his arms ache. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’ve dragged out every superstition a man of the sea holds most dear, no doubt gleaned from the personal journal you’re reading there. Bad enough to have a red-headed woman on board—the fact that you’re a witch is the only thing that let you up that gangplank—but yesterday you were seen throwing debris at an albatross!”
Ingrid frowned. “Dreadfully loud bird. I was only trying to earn the crew a bit of quiet.”
“You know bloody well it’s bad luck to harm an albatross!”
She shrugged and dismissed the issue with a wave. “I’ll try to remember that.”
He glared at her, shifting to stand more firmly and squaring his shoulders. “You shaved Lucky’s beard off while he was sleeping.”
“And just in time, too. The poor man had quite a tangled mess weighing down his chin.” She shook her head in mock sympathy. “It’s a wonder he could speak at all.”
“That hair that you cast into the sea is considered an offering to the earth goddess Joro,” Tyr seethed. “It’s well known that such offerings anger the sea god Njoror.”
Ingrid’s eyelashes fluttered as she looked at him, one hand rising to her chest. “Surely Njoror understands the importance of good grooming?”
Her fingers slid over the bare skin above the low-cut bodice and for the first time, Tyr realized the witch must have gone through the ship’s treasure hold. That gown had likely been pulled from a trunk taken from the last ship, a grossly extravagant monstrosity filled to the sails with men and women too rich to realize they weren’t immune to misfortune.
She’d chosen the gown well. The blue material clung to her curves, emphasizing the generous swells of her hips and breasts, revealing enough skin as to be nigh-on indecent. It was all Tyr could do to keep his mind from wandering to images of what that creamy flesh would look like sprawled naked on his bed, cushioned by the cascade of red hair and smelling sweetly of—
Tyr snarled, ripping himself from the erotic fantasy. He stomped over to the bed and grabbed Ingrid’s arm, hauling her forcefully off the bed and jerking her against him. Her sharp intake of breath and widened eyes appeased him, but not enough to soothe the ire sizzling along his nerves. He twisted her arm until the skin around her eyes tightened in pain, her jaw clenching as if trying to muffle a cry.
“You are sullying my reputation with the crew,” he said quietly
. “I may have to take my blade to some of them just to maintain the reputation I need to survive as captain. You have given me your word that you will help me, and I’ve given you mine that I will return you home.” He tightened his grip, digging his fingers into her supple flesh. “No word was said about what condition you arrive home in.”
He took a deep breath and then without thinking leaned in to take another, deeper breath. As angry as he was, he still couldn’t resist the urge to draw her scent closer to him. Never had anyone reminded him of the life he wanted as this woman did. She was the promise of a reward after a hard life, the Valhalla he yearned to see.
“Stop it,” Ingrid snapped, trying to jerk away from him. “For the love of the gods, why are you always smelling me? I told you, I smell like apples because—”
“You remind me of home.”
Sleek red eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and she stopped struggling. “Home?”
Tyr blinked, his words more of a shock to him than to Ingrid. His mind rushed to take advantage of his weakness, to relive the memories of the life he’d turned his back on. “My father was a farmer. He had an apple orchard that Idun herself would have envied.” A surge of pride rose inside him, a belated appreciation for all his father had accomplished. “I used to climb into the trees after I finished my chores and just lie there, eating apples as I pleased.”
He could almost taste the fruit now, feel the crisp first bite and the juice that would tingle against his tongue, run down his chin. Spring had been a joyous time too, a time when the whole world seemed to smell of apple blossoms.
Such sweetness was unheard of on a pirate ship. Fruit spoiled too easily to last long, it was hardly worth the effort to try. But even if it had been possible to keep apples on his ship, no fruit had ever smelled as sweet as the woman in his arms. It was as though the gods themselves had taken an apple and cut it into an even more pleasing shape, reducing the fruit to its very essence. He tightened his grip, enjoying the heat of her skin as he filled his senses with her scent. In a world of cool ocean air and the icy kiss of saltwater, it was impossible not to relish such warmth, such earthy pleasures.
“It sounds like a lovely life.” Ingrid relaxed in his hold, easing her body closer to his.
Tyr nodded and reluctantly dragged himself back to the present. “It was. Not that I appreciated it at the time.” Now that he’d started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “The older I got, the more I began to see my father’s life as boring. I was determined not to become him.” He released her arm and gestured around them, taking in the entirety of the ship. “So I did what any young Viking would do and joined the first crew that would have me. The rest, as they say, is history.”
A soft hand brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, the caress tender, delicate. “And now in your old age you’re starting to appreciate the memory of your roots?”
Her words, though bearing no real insult, still cut. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the tangled strands in frustration even as he fixed a roguish smile on his face. “What a sharp-tongued woman you are,” he scolded. “I’m not so old.”
“Old enough that I’ll bet your body yearns for a warmer climate with a little less seawater in the air.” Ingrid eyed the stump of his left wrist. “I’ll wager that aches something fierce in this damp, cool atmosphere.”
She reached a hand out as if to touch the stump in question, and Tyr jerked his arm back. “You don’t want to touch that, min skatt. It’s better used for scaring unruly crewmen than for a lady such as yourself.”
Ingrid’s eyes flashed, a green flare like sunlight beating down on spring leaves. She reached for the stump again, and this time Tyr let her, sucking in a ragged breath when she tentatively ran her thumb over the scarred flesh. It was an odd sensation, dulled by the dead nerves, but sensitive in the light that it had been so long since he’d been touched there. It felt more intimate than it should have. His heart pounded a throbbing bass in his ears and his mouth went suddenly dry.
“Tyr, why don’t you come back to my orchard with me?” She used her other hand to toy with the sleeve of his shirt, her fingertips brushing his biceps. “I could use the help, especially from someone who knows his way about apple trees.” The soft swell of her breasts pressed against his chest as she leaned closer. “The ogre would never find you.”
Tyr fought the urge to close his eyes so as better to concentrate on her touch. There was something hypnotic about her voice, about the soft caress of her hand. “Such a pretty offer from a woman who wished my death just a short time ago.” His voice was gruff, deeper than it had been. He sounded like he’d just crawled out of bed after too much rum and other…indulgences.
“You stole me from my home and threatened me with a fate worse than death if I didn’t do as you said.” Ingrid’s voice betrayed a hint of anger, but she quickly pulled her mouth into a tight smile. “But I promise I won’t hold that against you.”
She raised her other hand to the side of his face and pulled him down, their breath intermingling in the sliver of space between them. Amusement tickled the corners of his mouth, but Tyr kept a straight face. If the maiden wanted to try and seduce him into taking her home, he was more than happy to play along. He put a hand on her waist, wrapping his left arm around her back to brace his forearm on her spine. Curious as to how far she would allow this to play out, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.
For a moment she tensed and he thought she would push him away. Her skin twitched under his touch, muscles tightening as if preparing to leap back. Then she softened. He murmured in appreciation as she suddenly opened her mouth and allowed him to deepen the kiss. With an eagerness he hadn’t felt in years, he slid his tongue past her teeth, gliding it against hers. She tasted sweet-tart with just a hint of cinnamon. As delicious as she smelled.
He tightened his arms around her, dragging her hard against his chest as he plundered her mouth, not wanting to waste one second of the opportunity she offered him. The soft weight of her breasts against his chest tormented him with images of Ingrid lying naked in his bed, his silks and furs draped over her curves here and there, offering tantalizing peeks at her nude beauty. She was so soft, so willing in his arms right now. Would she let him carry her to his bed? How much was she willing to give him to try and sway his mind from his goal…
Lech.
The word was flung at him from the dark corners of his mind, the crevices where his conscience had been tucked away. He tore his mouth away from her, stepping back before he could sully what little moral code he had. Ingrid was willing, yes, but only because she wanted to manipulate him into taking her home. She didn’t want him, not really.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to keep his breathing even despite the desire scalding his veins. “I should not have done that.”
The sight of Ingrid’s flushed cheeks and bright, sparkling eyes nearly had him jerking her back into his arms, conscience be damned. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath before speaking.
“It’s all right. Truly.” She cleared her throat. “I hope you’ll consider my offer.”
Tyr tried not to wince. “I will give it some thought.” He took a deep breath, ready to burn the bridge to temptation behind him. “After I’ve delivered the firebird to the ogre.”
The passion in her eyes burned away in a blaze of glorious rage. The air around him crackled with the force of her temper, the force of a woman scorned. Her lip curled in a snarl and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides.
“I will make you sorry you ever saw me,” she promised.
Tyr straightened, battling down the despair of knowing that all hope of fulfilling the fantasy with this witch died. “I admire your spirit, Ingrid. Believe me, I do. You’ve been put in quite the impossible situation. Unfortunately, I’m not of a mind to sacrifice my life for your convenience.”
Bit by bit, he drained the emotion from his face, offering her a view of the calm facade he used when forced
to defend his life and his reputation. The face he’d used during the times he’d had to do things that made his stomach roll and his psyche retreat into a bottle of rum. The mindset he used when he had to kill to survive. “If you continue to undermine me, I will punish you. Please don’t force me to do something so unpleasant that we will become true enemies.”
“I said I would help you get the firebird, but I made no such promises about respect. You haven’t earned my respect and I’ll be damned if I just give it away.”
Ingrid stepped closer to him, though this time the proximity of her body lacked anything that could be remotely construed as passion. She glared into his eyes and the look had a physical weight to it.
“I will make your life miserable until you return me to my land. I’ve humored you long enough. I promised not to try and escape, but mark my words. You will return me to land immediately or I will scare every member of this crew until they flee like rats from a sinking ship.” She crossed her arms.
Tyr closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. His soul shriveled inside of him, the same voice in his head that had been so intent on taking her to his bed now crying, screaming at him not to do what had to be done. Bit by bit, he pushed all of that away. He wiped the scent of apples from his mind, blocked the thoughts of Ingrid’s smile from his memory. The warmth drained from his body and his heart slowly solidified into the block of ice he needed it to be.
Ingrid gasped as he opened his eyes, his hand shooting out to grab her roughly by the arm. Without saying a word, he jerked her to him and threw her over his shoulder, handling her as though she were no more than a sack of potatoes. She screamed and beat at his back, but he turned without a sound and stalked out of his cabin.
Wide-eyed crewmen watched as he stomped out from the lower hold of the ship and across the weather-beaten deck. He sought out Smalls, meeting the other man’s eyes without flinching. His first mate’s shoulders drooped for a moment before he squared them in determination. He nodded to Tyr and turned to a couple of slack-jawed crewmen.
The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Page 3
