“I’ve learned of your father’s death.” Ivarr stepped off the dais, limping and carrying a wood box. “Scholars are valuable, even to a heathen like me. As you know, my interests extend beyond trading and the agricultural value of these lands. Had I known your sire was inside the scriptorium, I would have protected him.”
She shifted on her feet, staring at the floor. “Your consideration is appreciated, milord.” She raised her head.
Konal could feel the tension creeping up her spine.
“I know reparations cannot restore your happiness.” The prince stood in front of them now. “But in my country, when someone is killed—accidently or otherwise—it is customary to offer wergild to the surviving family members. In this case, I wish to give you this.” He opened the box.
Embroidered gowns and jewels. Konal licked his lips. “Thank you.” He spoke on her behalf.
“Let her speak freely,” Ivarr commanded.
Although her hands were bound, Silvia ran her fingers over the light-colored fabrics. Then, she picked up a silver collar embellished with sapphires.
“A necklace fit for a jarl’s wife,” the prince said.
“Milord,” she said. “These gifts are too rich for the daughter of a scribe. What shall I do with them?”
Ivarr smiled. “Whatever you see fit.”
She curtsied.
“As for your escort.” Ivarr turned his attention to Konal. “I’m willing to promote you and offer more gold if you’ll stay another year. Few men accomplish what you have in such a short time. Half my warriors love you, the others want to stick a knife in your back.”
Konal laughed. He’d already demonstrated what he’d do to any man who challenged him. “Your praise is gift enough, milord.”
“Ah,” Ivarr said. “I know there’s nothing I can do to keep you here. Your father’s ship arrived a week ago. His men will meet you soon. Go with the gods, Jarl Konal.” He thrust the box in Konal’s hands.
Konal hesitated for a moment. He’d made a name for himself here, established friendships, fought in one of the bloodiest sieges and survived. With gold and silver and other assets at his disposal, he’d return to Norway a respected man. But as the second in line for his father’s seat of power, what really awaited him across the sea? For he could never accept his eldest brother’s rule after tasting what it felt like to be a jarl. If he stayed, there were no limits. But his heart ached for the icy blue fjords and mountains, the forest and snow, and family.
Ready to go, he grasped Ivarr’s arm with his free hand. “En medvind på ryggen vår er best.” A fair wind at your back is best.
Chapter Ten
“Is it so bad keeping company with me?” Konal stared down at Silvia from his horse with an unreadable expression. “The evening sky is clear. And the winds are light. We’ll sleep comfortably tonight without a fire.”
Only if she could get him to free her hands and stay as far away as possible. After half a night and a full day of riding, her arse ached. Twenty miles into their journey, she no longer recognized the countryside. Having only traveled a few miles beyond York, her whole life revolved around the familiar sights and sounds within the city walls. And the cottage. The further away she got, the heavier her heart grew. She prayed silently, remembering her father and the men who died trying to reclaim the city. She begged for guidance, patience, understanding, and even a bit of forgiveness for the man who continued to protect her from the savages that surrounded them.
The five soldiers escorting them were little better than ravenous dogs. Dressed in full armor, thick beards braided and adorned with silver and gold beads, they reminded her of everything she feared. Heathens with little else to do but search for something to kill. Three of them went hunting the minute Konal picked a place to camp for the night. The other two wandered off to piss—an announcement she wished she’d never heard.
As she surveyed the area, she admired the creek that cut through the flatlands, disappearing into the forest. Fields of wheat and barley dominated the eastern landscape. Bleating sheep could be heard from a nearby farm.
Dismounting, Konal untied her hands. “We’re far enough away from Jorvik to trust you again.”
She rubbed her sore wrists, unhappy with the marks left by the rope. “You think me incapable of finding my way home?”
“No,” he said. “I think you’re too shrewd to make the mistake of walking alone. And…” He seized her right wrist. “There’s nothing left for you there.”
He couldn’t be more wrong. Perhaps he didn’t understand how closely connected she was to the monks. It might seem improper to some—immoral even—but men of the cloth loved children, too. And no matter how old she grew, those precious servants of God still regarded her as the same little girl running wild inside the sanctuary.
She glared at him, very aware of his touch.
Whenever she looked at Konal, it forced her to remember. “Please don’t touch me. I’m a slave now. Assign me a task so I feel useful.”
He untied his saddle packs, then threw them on the ground at her feet. “Shake out the furs and make our beds. We’ll reach the coast by tomorrow afternoon.”
“The coast?” she repeated anxiously.
“Aye,” he said. “The North Sea.”
“I-I thought we were going to your steading.”
His mouth twitched. “We’re headed in that general direction,” he confirmed. “Once we reach the crossroads, I’ll send the guards ahead to warn my tenants of our arrival.” He studied her critically. “We’re going to Filey.”
Although she feared the soldiers, their presence made it difficult for Konal to get her alone. “Why Filey?”
“To see the ocean.”
She cared nothing about the coast.
“You’ve never set eyes on the water, have you?”
“There’s been no cause, milord. I’ve seen my share of rivers and lakes, what need of an ocean?”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “You know little of the world.”
She disagreed. “I know more about the world than most,” she challenged. “After the things I’ve read, the secrets divulged in manuscripts collected from as far as Constantinople, believe me when I say men’s hearts are as cold and bent on violence a thousand miles away as they are here.”
“A fair argument,” he admitted. “But the intentions of men have nothing to do with the wondrous sights beyond this island.”
She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave their home for foreign shores. “My responsibilities kept me close to the church, near my father and the monks. Don’t you have a family? A wife and children?”
“The truth is revealed,” he said. “Waiting for the right time to ask questions so it doesn’t appear you’re truly interested in me.” He smiled. “I have many brothers and a sister. My father anxiously awaits my return. But a wife…” He shook his head. “I’ve avoided marriage for a long time.”
“Norsemen breed like rabbits to keep their armies stocked with bloodthirsty boys.”
A light breeze lifted his dark hair. “Children are a man’s future,” he said with absolute certainty. “And in time, I’ll sire as many as Odin is willing to give me.” He fingered his beard. “As for breeding like rabbits, shall we test your theory?”
Silvia fisted her hands at her sides. “You twisted the meaning of my words again.”
“Have I now?”
“You’d find any excuse to act churlish.”
“According to you,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t need one. It’s in my tainted blood.”
Boiling blood, she thought. Something strange happened between her legs then—a tiny spasm and a surge of wet heat. Embarrassed by whatever she was experiencing, she looked away, only to find herself staring at his full lips a minute later. That mouth had plundered hers, tasted her, and left her mindless. Stupid girl. She smoothed her skirt, as nervous as she’d ever been with him.
“How many times have you looked at a man the
way you just stared at me?”
“What?”
“Tell me now what you were thinking when you gazed at my mouth.”
“You’re imagining things, milord.”
“Stop denying what you naturally feel, Silvia.”
Lord help her. “This is a pointless conversation.”
“Is it?”
She tried to grab the bags, but he took her hand, forcing her upright.
“Indulge your master,” he said sweetly. “Let’s play a game, Silvia.”
“I’m not overly fond of such things,” she lied. The monks taught her how to play chess before she could speak. And she knew how much Norsemen enjoyed sporting of any kind. Whether hnefatafl, a game similar to chess, or drinking in excess.
“Tis a game of wit,” he offered. “Or truth, if that’s what you choose to call it.”
Admittedly, he’d piqued her interest. “What are the rules?”
“I’ll ask you a question, and if I think your answer is misleading, I win a kiss.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This supposed game seems slanted in your favor.”
“On the contrary,” he assured her. “You, too, receive the same opportunity.”
That made her laugh. “If I think you’re withholding the truth I get to kiss you? Hardly a coveted prize for me.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve kissed me before, milord. I didn’t like it.”
Without warning, his lips brushed across hers. She gasped and stepped back. His mouth wreaked havoc on her insides. What chance did she really have against this man? Her gaze slipped down his body, focusing on the calloused hands resting at his sides. It was almost impossible not to think of how it felt to be pawed by them. Every inch of him as virile as a rutting stag.
“Consider this the start of our match,” he said. “Tell me exactly what you are thinking.”
Confessing would only feed his ego. But he had proven too perceptive already, he’d know if she withheld anything. “Your hands,” her voice wavered. “I’ve never seen a larger pair.”
He grinned. “You’re not the first woman to accuse me of being large.”
She covered her mouth in disgust, fully aware of what he meant. “Men who boast about such things are often said to be liars, milord.”
“There’s no need for me to lie.”
Why should she doubt him? Every other part of his body was oversized. With the exception of his brain. She chuckled.
“What?” he demanded.
“A private thought.”
“There can be no secrets between us,” he said, holding her gaze. “As a member of my household, I’m entitled to know even the most insignificant thought.”
She shook her head. “I believe it’s my turn.”
“Aye.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “So it is.”
“Tell me about your family.” If she distracted him with a certain kind of questioning, maybe he wouldn’t have time to think about kissing her again.
His head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “Of all the things you could ask, this is what you wish to know?” He rubbed his chin. “My father is named Brandr, my mother was Thordia. We live in the Trondelag, one of Odin’s most sacred places. I have three brothers and a sister. My father is proud, a respected jarl. My sister, beautiful and obedient.”
“Traits I am sure all Northmen cherish.”
“Is it so objectionable to do as you’re told?”
“Is this your query, milord?”
A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “It seems you’ve outwitted me this round, Silvia. Yes, answer the question.”
“Don’t you know the answer? I’m freeborn, the daughter of a scholar. A teacher of the wealthiest sons in Northumbria. You presume to steal my freedom because one day your army marches into York and destroys everything I love.” Anger swelled inside her chest. “You can shackle a man’s hands and feet, not his heart.”
“You forget how much a man of my low breeding enjoys a fiery temper.” A shadow fell across his features. “Your resistance is a promise of things to come.”
“No, milord,” she started. “My defiance is proof of my great dislike for your kind.”
“Ask a question.”
“If you are the son of a Norwegian jarl, why are you serving under a Danish prince?”
“You are much too aware of the political conflicts between our countries. What use does a woman have for such knowledge? Your sire should have spent more time preparing you for marriage.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I lost a drinking wager against my elder brother.” He gave her a lazy smile, daring her to respond.
She rolled her eyes. “You seem proud of your loss.”
“I’d wear it as badge on my chest if I could.” He waved his hands. “I turned that defeat into a victory. Now it is my turn,” he informed her. “How many men have you kissed?” He grazed her bottom lip with his knuckles, sending a shockwave of excitement through her.
“Tis an inappropriate question.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You cannot change the rules because you dislike my inquiry.”
She frowned. “None.”
He tilted her chin upward, gazing into her eyes. “Do Saxon men prefer boys?”
She clicked her tongue reprovingly. “Our thriving numbers prove otherwise.”
“Men wearing dresses—girls in libraries—a beautiful woman never kissed. I’m beginning to suspect the gods opened up your lands to us because of the effeminate nature of your men.”
“You went out of turn, milord. Now I get two chances.”
He accepted her words, then stepped back, moving with powerful grace, another thing she regretfully admired about him. Large men often stumbled over their own feet. Not Konal.
“How many women have you bedded?”
He nearly choked. “Too many to count.”
Ten? Twenty? Thirty? Too many to count? It appalled her, but struck her as an honest reply. She remembered the jewelry in his bag. That wasn’t a safe question to ask a man. She tapped her fingers against her mouth.
“I’m waiting, Silvia.”
As far as she was concerned, he could wait until the end of bloody time. She didn’t like this game.
*
He longed to touch her again, only Konal wanted it to be her choice. Another question about his sexual prowess would give him every reason to caress her face. She opened her mouth as if she was determined to say something, but then snapped it shut. By the gods, he wanted to shove something between those sensual lips. “What has silenced you?”
“There is no point to this game.”
It had taken her longer than he’d expected for her to realize it. “You are correct.”
“A waste of time then,” she complained. “Daylight is fading, we must prepare.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “Sometimes other things take precedence.”
Her finely-shaped brows jutted.
“Tis better to get acquainted than worry about setting up camp.”
Silvia pulled a fur out of one of the bags. “Why disguise a conversation as a game?”
“You’ve been less than agreeable when I’ve tried talking to you before. I made it more appealing and you were willing to play.”
“I believe you owe me an apology, milord.”
“For what?”
“Taking advantage of my innocence.”
“Are you calling me a liar, again?”
She looked down, grinding the toe of her boot in the dirt. “Not directly.”
“You think there’s a difference between direct and indirect falsehoods?”
“One is the lesser of two evils.”
Woman logic made no sense. “A lie is a lie.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, but only wished to see where you stood on the matter.”
“Then you admit we’re both guilty and now two kisses must be exchanged.”
Her eyes were
as round as a full moon. “Two?”
“Two.” He swept her hair aside, gripping her shoulders as he leaned into her.
Her lips parted and their tongues tangled. The lack of companionship over the last few months in the field had left him half-crazed. But his hunger for Silvia—which grew rampantly whenever he touched her, was nearing a level of explosive proportions he’d never known before.
It gave him good reason to stop. But with his shaft pressed against her stomach, lust overrode his control. Paradise awaited him between her thighs. Slim legs he remembered too well from the night he spanked her. He made a wild sound deep in his throat as one of his hands found the generous swell of her breast. Her pebble-hard nipples protruded through the soft material of her dress, which he quickly touched, and Silvia’s body constricted with pleasure.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her cheek, realizing his mistake. If he took his time, she’d learn to trust him, even crave his attention. But his body disagreed. “That’s the first kiss,” he muttered. “I’ll claim the second now, too.”
This time his mouth collided violently with hers, his hands wandering across her body, then around her waist where he cupped her backside. His breath caught in his throat at the feel of her firm arse. Locking her against him with one arm, he found the laces on her bodice and quickly untied them. Her gown gaped open, revealing milky white flesh. He tugged gently on her dress until it loosened enough to fall down her shoulders.
Silvia inhaled and closed her eyes, in Konal’s estimation, granting him permission to do whatever he pleased. He admired her exposed breasts, caressing them gently while he sucked on a pink nipple. With every squeeze and lick, she sighed, her hands buried in his hair. So now the spirited wench knew his touch produced a kind of pleasure she’d never experienced. And if she let him, he’d teach her how to get more. How to give as much pleasure as she received. A skill she’d value in the future when she sought the protection of another man.
Curse his stupidity for interfering with her work. If he’d allowed her to arrange the furs, there’d be a bloody place to lay her down. With little concern for who might come upon them in the open, he hiked her skirt over her hips. What greeted him made him salivate. “One taste,” he murmured, enthralled by the thatch of dark curls between her legs. “Just one.”
Love's Fury (Viking's Fury #1) Page 7
