there but children and old women.’ Gunnar smiled. ‘This is the only treasure.’ His hand moved over her buttocks in a rough caress.
‘Put her down.’ The command was so harsh and forceful that even the girl stopped fighting to raise her head and look at him. Her dark eyes widened, and he watched the ivory column of her throat move as she swallowed. She recognised him. The pull he’d felt on the beach was stronger now. Eirik gritted his teeth and demanded control as he stowed his sword in the sheath strapped diagonally across his back.
‘I found her.’ Gunnar’s voice was almost a growl. ‘You have Kadlin.’ Despite his harsh words, he was gentle as he allowed her to slide slowly from his grasp to land on her feet.
‘Leave her to me, Gunnar.’
‘Ah, finally, brother...’ His brother’s gaze was fierce, but clearly amused as if he held the secret to some jest that Eirik had yet to share. But the girl wasn’t fighting now. She watched Eirik with those fathomless eyes.
Gunnar opened his mouth, no doubt to taunt him again, but was interrupted before he could even start.
‘Take her!’ The voice was clear and steady as the manor’s lady entered the pantry.
All eyes turned to her. Eirik was sure he heard a gasp come from the girl.
‘Take her instead, and leave the grain,’ the woman urged.
‘I could take both,’ Eirik countered as he wondered what the woman was about.
‘Aye, but you don’t have time for both.’ Her clever eyes seized his before she turned them on the girl. The gaze was hard and assessing as it travelled her length. ‘She’s unmarried and unmarred from childbirth. She could fetch you a price worth more than a winter’s worth of grain. Take her and go while you still can.’
Eirik didn’t have time to weigh her words. In the next instant, the girl found her legs and surprised them all by running out the back way.
His blood thundered again, pounding through him and demanding he catch her.
Merewyn ran even though she knew it was futile. Even though every figure she passed was a Northman and the only way out was through the front gates. She ran because she couldn’t stand the idea of allowing them to take her. She ran to outpace the betrayal of those two words so bitterly spoken.
Take her! The words repeated themselves over and over in her head until they were meaningless. A chant. A curse. Words that she would remember for ever. But, most of all, she ran because she knew she would be taken.
She’d heard the stories of the Northmen often repeated in reverent voices by travellers around the fire in the great hall. They made slaves of their enemies and raped the women. She couldn’t bear the thought. And if they didn’t keep her after they finished, there were Eastern cities with whole markets devoted to the trade of humans where they could sell her. Merewyn couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t live as a slave.
He was coming to get her. In her mind’s eye, she saw the golden giant from the dragon ship following behind her. She knew it would be he who would give chase. Though she hadn’t understood his words, she knew that he’d laid some sort of claim to her. She had felt it on the beach. His eyes had claimed her as surely as his hands would if he caught her.
His footsteps were hard on the ground and getting closer, no matter how fast she ran. His heavy gaze bore into her, touching her with its power. It crawled up her back like fingers clawing at her gown and reached for her neck. As he drew nearer, the visceral potency of his scrutiny made her heart leap into her throat and left her knees weak. When she couldn’t take it another moment, when she was sure he would grab her, she ducked around the safety of the forge. But he was there, already rounding the opposite corner of the massive stone hearth to block her path. There would be no hiding from him.
He stood tall and wide before her, bent slightly at the knees, hands ready to grab her. He was larger than any of the men she knew; she was small and slight next to him. His eyes blazed with his intention to have her and she realised there was nothing left to do but fight him. She would long for death eventually if he took her; it was better to have it meted out to her now. She held no illusions of walking away from the fight. He would smite her out as easily as he would an insect. With that realisation, Merewyn’s heart stopped its frenzied beating and a cold certainty descended over her body, bringing with it a calmness she had never experienced.
Her decision made, Merewyn’s fingers closed around the hilt of the seax she kept in the belt at her waist and pulled it from its leather sheath. The long, thin blade would be useless against the chain mail he wore on his torso, so she’d have to aim low...or go for his throat. Just as she debated, he reached out for her, taking the choice from her by making her slash at his arm. She was rewarded with his low grunt of pain. Merewyn immediately pulled back to try again, but he recovered and lunged for her.
She swung blindly, only to have him grab her wrist and twist her arm behind her back. He yanked the knife from her before his other hand grabbed her free wrist and held it pressed to the stone hearth at her back. It happened too fast. Before she knew it, she was staring up into his face, so close that it left her breathless.
Death didn’t seem to be an immediate option. The relentless pound of her heartbeat returned to send the blood whooshing through her ears. It rushed through her so fast and hard, it urged her body to action, but she was stuck, forced to await his judgement. As his gaze raked her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow appraising her worth, perhaps wondering how much she might fetch him in the slave market, or if he should just kill her now.
But then she met his eyes, and she realised it was neither of those. The look of fiery possession was unmistakable, and it seared her where it touched. It licked across her face and down her neck, a living flame, burning her up as though she was fuel for the fire. She’d never seen someone look so focused, so resolute. He meant to keep her for himself. He meant to own her...to violate her. She closed her eyes tight against the knowledge.
He didn’t move.
Inches separated his broad chest from hers, but he made no attempt to touch her further. His breath brushed her cheek, calm and steady—not erratic like hers—and she observed it smelled of winter, cool and mild. It was foreign and uninvited, but not repugnant. The hands that held her were firm, but not hard. Nothing was happening as she’d imagined it might.
Confused by his inaction, she chanced opening her eyes to see the sun had finally found an opening in the clouds and was glinting along the knit mesh on his shoulder. Her gaze followed along the corded muscle of his neck, noting absurdly that it was clean shaven. Weren’t the Norse barbarians supposed to be unkempt?
She followed the bearded curve of his strong chin to the hard, straight line of his mouth and upwards over the bizarrely graceful curve of his cheekbones. The man could have been a Viking god. The small lump at the bridge of his nose was his only flaw. She took a deep breath and found the courage to meet his eyes. The blue was vivid in its intensity. It made her stomach twist in fear, but at the same time she realised there was no rage in those eyes. She couldn’t quite identify the emotion that burned there.
He wasn’t a god, she had to remind herself. The small creases around his eyes had been put there from years of squinting into the sun, or maybe it was possible someone had made him laugh enough to create those lines. Merewyn
