Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

‘I suppose I could just pick one.’ He used the idea as an excuse to lean further forward, trying to catch her eye again. ‘Yrsa? Lofn? Gunilla? Astrid? No, I knew an Astrid once. Definitely not Astrid. Marta? Lofn? Ingri—?’ He bit his tongue. ‘No, not Ingrid. That was the name of my brother’s wife, but she...’ He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence, but when he looked back, he found her face had turned slightly towards him. Not by much, just enough to suggest she was paying more attention than her continued silence implied. ‘What about Bersa?’ he carried on, trying not to show that he’d noticed. ‘I’ve never met a Bersa before.’

He’d given up expecting any response so he was taken aback when she twisted her body sideways abruptly, leaning across him to remove the bandage and study his injury again. He froze at the contact. Her face was pressed so close that he could feel the tangled mass of her hair skimming gently against his bicep. It barely counted as a touch, but the feeling made all his muscles clench simultaneously.

‘Bersa it is, then.’ He cleared his throat, trying to focus on something else. ‘I suppose you’re wondering how I ended up like this. It was a mistake. I acted foolishly. I rushed into an argument when I shouldn’t have and—’

He sucked in a breath as her fingers brushed against the undamaged skin beneath his wound, infinitely softly but enough to send a torrent of heat coursing through his veins. No, not coursing—roaring, as heavy as a waterfall after a flood. It was so unexpected that for a moment he could hardly think straight. Three years had definitely been too long if the mere touch of a woman could arouse him so easily, especially the touch of this silent and strange-looking wraith.

She was on her feet so quickly that he was half-afraid he’d said the words out loud. One moment she was retying the bandage around his arm, the next she was pulling a cloak over her head and striding away through the trees, the two wolves following at her heels.

‘Where are you going?’ he called after her, wondering what had just happened and whether he’d somehow offended her. He hadn’t said anything, he was sure of it, and yet something had caused her to shoot up and leave...

What had just happened?

It was several hours before he realised she wasn’t coming back.

Chapter Four

Sissa fitted an arrow to her bow, drew back the string, aimed and let go. There was a faint whooshing sound followed by a thud as it slammed into a tree behind the deer, who immediately took off in the opposite direction. Stars! She rolled her eyes at her own lack of focus. It had been an easy shot, but she hadn’t been able to hunt during the past few days while she’d been nursing the stranger and her own rumbling stomach had distracted her.

That was the only reason for her distraction, she told herself. Hunger. That was all. It definitely had nothing to do with an injured warrior with thick, shoulder-length, blond hair and arm muscles the same width as her waist...

She shook her head, wading through the damp undergrowth towards the river, relieved to find that one of her nets had been successful. At least she’d have something substantial to eat tonight. Deftly, she emptied the contents and then made her way back to her roundhouse in the forest clearing, singing an old, half-remembered tune as she went. Being in the company of the warrior—Danr, he’d called himself—seemed to have loosened her tongue somehow, making her want to sing again. It felt strange, but surprisingly good, to fill her lungs with fresh mountain air that tasted even better after the rain, clean and fresh and restorative somehow.

She dropped the salmon beside the fire pit and went into her roundhouse for a cauldron, then along to the stream on the mountainside for some water, still singing. Idly, she wondered where the warrior was now. She’d left him his sword as well as a few supplies so that he’d be free to leave the shelter as soon as he felt well enough—which would probably be soon if he hadn’t gone already. He’d been much stronger when she’d left him that morning and there had been nothing wrong with his legs. Or with his mouth either. She hadn’t heard so many words put together in years. The people who came to her needing help or medicine never said any more than was necessary, as if her silence were somehow contagious, and it was an arrangement that suited her. Silence was her best protection. It made people afraid of her and people who were afraid left her in peace. That was the way she wanted and needed it to be. She would help them and heal them, but that was al

l. She would never live with or be one of them again. Her old life was over and there was no going back.

But then he’d come along. The warrior had talked to her as if he wasn’t afraid of her, as if he’d seen her as some kind of normal woman. She’d thought him good looking enough when he was unconscious, but awake there was a kind of mesmerising quality about him that drew the eye and held it. The way he’d looked at her when she’d woken up after taking shelter from the rain had made her feel uncharacteristically breathless and dazed, too. It had been a new, almost pleasurable sensation, but one she couldn’t and wouldn’t allow. It was too unnerving. He was too unnerving. And so she’d left, checking his wound one last time before walking away without a backward glance.

At least she was home and safe again now, she thought with a sigh, hooking the metal cauldron on to a tripod above the fire pit, then cutting up a few turnips and adding them to the water. Some wild garlic might be good for her stew, too, she decided, half-turning towards her roundhouse and then stiffening at the sound of Tove’s growl. Instantly she whipped around, following the direction of the wolf’s gaze towards the trees. Branches were rustling and swaying as if something large were coming towards them, though whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have the slightest idea about stealth.

Quickly, she reached for the spear she always kept close at hand and drew her arm back ready to throw. It could be a bear or a rival wolf or...him?

She almost dropped the spear again, forgetting to guard her expression for a few seconds as she gaped at the warrior with surprise, closely followed by horror. He’d fastened his sword belt back on and the fur she’d left him was draped around his shoulders, exacerbating his rugged, hirsute appearance. But most bizarre of all was the smile spreading over his face, making his teeth flash white against his sun-bronzed skin, as if he were genuinely pleased to see her again. What was he doing there? Why hadn’t he left? How had he found her?

‘There you are!’ His voice held a note of triumph. ‘I might not be able to fight for a while, but I can still track.’

Trembling, she lifted a hand, pointing back in the direction from which he’d emerged. How dared he intrude upon her clearing! This was her home, hers and Tove’s and Halvar’s! Nobody came here! The people from the village who needed her help knew better than to come so close. She didn’t want anyone else here, especially not a warrior who seemed twice as big now that he was back on his feet. Warriors destroyed things! They were monsters, not men, killing and burning and plundering wherever they went! Every instinct told her to scream and yell at him to go, but all she could do was point.

‘I’m afraid I can’t.’ His tone was apologetic as he dropped to one knee in a supplicatory gesture. ‘I owe you a debt for saving my life and I need to repay it. I still have one good arm and I’ll do whatever you ask, any tasks you need doing. I’ll even hunt if you want.’ He glanced down at his bandage and gave a lopsided grin. ‘Just maybe not deer. Not yet. Maybe mice?’

She kept on staring at him, aghast. The words suggested he intended to stay with her for a while, but how was it repaying her when she didn’t want anything from him, except for him to go away?

‘I won’t disturb you. I’ll build another shelter.’ He shuffled closer, ignoring Tove’s warning growl. Where was Halvar? Sissa glanced around, but the male wolf was lying off to one side, seemingly unperturbed by the whole scene. Briefly she considered whistling for Tove to attack on her own, but the warrior still had a sword and she dared not take the risk of her companion being injured.

‘I’m not a bad cook either.’ He stopped beside the fire pit and gestured towards the salmon. ‘I can prepare that for you, if you like. What is it? Fish stew?’

Sissa clenched her fists, willing her features back into the customary stillness she adopted around people, but it was impossible. Her whole body was shaking with rage and frustration and the urge to scream at him was too great. She could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck and her head felt as though it was about to burst. If she wasn’t mistaken, she could actually hear the blood gushing in angry torrents through her veins. No doubt her face was blazing red. She wouldn’t be surprised if her whole body was the same colour.

She threw him one last look of savage fury and stormed into her roundhouse.

* * *

Danr looked around for bowls. Cooking the fish hadn’t been easy—and that was an understatement. Skinning and deboning a salmon with one good arm had been particularly challenging, especially under the watchful gaze of two large wolves, but he’d finally managed it. As fish stews went, it wasn’t too bad either. It could have done with some more flavour, a few herbs perhaps, but whatever other ingredients the woman had, he guessed they were stored inside her roundhouse and he had a feeling that venturing in there would push her temper over the edge.

His arrival had finally penetrated the uncommunicative mask she’d worn so far in all their dealings. He’d actually been taken aback by the expression of outrage on her face when he’d first emerged into the clearing. She might at least have been pleased to see him back on his feet, but she’d looked as if she’d wanted to undo all her hard work and throw her spear at him instead. His attempt to charm her hadn’t exactly worked either. The lopsided, self-deprecating smile he’d honed to a fine art over the years rarely failed to convince a woman to do anything, but if one thing was obvious by now it was that this woman was different. She wasn’t going to leap at the chance of spending more time with him. She wanted him to go.

Unfortunately for her, he couldn’t. Even if he went back to his carefully concealed boat, he could hardly row back to the mainland with one arm. And even if he could, Sandulf was in Eireann now, not Alba. What he needed was a place to recuperate, somewhere warm and dry until his arm healed and he was ready to confront Hilda again. Whether this woman liked it or not—and the answer was obviously not—he needed her. Now, all he had to do was convince her that she needed him, too.