Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

‘It’s all I care about now.’

‘More than your life?’

‘My life...’ He knitted his brows together. This wasn’t a subject he wanted to talk about, especially not to a stranger—a woman!—but the words seemed to be coming of their own accord. ‘My life never had much meaning. Doing what I came here for is the only thing that might give it some value.’

There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence while she stared up at him, so intently he had the feeling she was trying to see all the way to the back of his skull. He had the unnerving suspicion she might actually be able to do it, too. For a woman who’d barely looked him in the eye to begin with, she had an extremely disconcerting stare. He felt as if he were being stripped naked.

‘All right.’ She nodded her head finally. ‘You can stay until your arm heals, but you do what I say, you build your own shelter and you keep out of my roundhouse.’

‘Understood.’

‘And when you leave, you don’t mention anything about this or me to anyone. You don’t make me regret helping you.’

‘Not a word.’

‘Then we have an agreement, Danr Sigurdsson.’

‘And you have my thanks.’

She gave an infinitesimal nod of the head. ‘In that case, you need your rest. You can bring the rest of the logs tomorrow.’

‘I can do it tonight.’

‘No. You promised to do whatever I said and I’m telling you to rest and heal.’ Her eyes narrowed again. ‘The sooner you do that, the sooner you can leave me alone.’

‘Then your wish is my command.’ He felt curiously touched by the words. ‘Thank you, lady.’

Chapter Seven

Sissa tied a knot of yarn to the shaft of her drop spindle and started to spin, looking up every so often as Danr stirred yet more ingredients into the cauldron beside him. They’d had a busy day. She’d done some weaving on a hand loom while he’d taken the rest of the logs to the cave, then washed some clothes and completed half-a-dozen other tasks she’d given him. She’d deliberately made no allowances for his arm, yet he’d done everything without complaint, even entertaining her while they’d carded wool with a story about a dragon and a beautiful maiden who was rescued by a brave warrior.

The time had passed quickly since it was hard to imagine a skald telling it better. After such a long day, she would have expected him to be surly and exhausted, but he seemed to have endless reserves of energy and good humour. The more he’d talked, the more words had started coming back to her, too, as if some long-dormant part of herself had awoken again. She’d wanted to applaud when his story was over, although she hadn’t since that might have implied she was actually enjoying his company. None the less, she had to admit he was nothing like she’d expected a warrior to be. He was also more than a handsome face—funny, charming and apparently interested in cooking. She’d never seen so much fuss over what was, as far as she could tell, essentially just nettle soup. At that moment, he wasn’t even talking, utterly engrossed in the cauldron in front of him.

‘How many more ingredients can it possibly need?’ she asked finally. ‘How long until we can actually eat it?’

‘Patience, Erika-Bersa. It’ll be ready when it’s ready.’ He clucked his tongue, dipping his spoon into the bubbling liquid and then winking across the fire pit. ‘Now it’s ready.’

‘Thank goodness.’ She dropped her gaze, alarmed by a swooping sensation in her abdomen. It had happened that morning when he’d winked at her, too, although she had no idea why. Not that it was unpleasant, but it seemed to add an atmosphere of tension to the air around them. Or maybe she was the only one who felt it?

‘It just needs to cool for a little while.’ He removed the cauldron from the tripod and set it aside, swatting at a small, winged insect as he sat down again. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

‘Ravenous. Here.’ She put her spindle aside and reached into her basket, tossing him a small bundle that he caught in mid-air.

‘Bog myrtle?’

‘It helps to keep insects away. Tuck it behind your ear or they’ll go for your neck.’

‘You want me to put plants in my hair?’ He looked sceptical for a moment and then did as she suggested. ‘Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose. I’m tired of being eaten.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘At least I know you won’t tell anyone.’

‘Very funny.’ She fought to repress a smile. With a green sprig behind his ear he looked even less like a warrior. ‘Do you really like cooking?’

‘Yes. I like good food, good clothes and good f—’ He bit his tongue abruptly. ‘A few other things.’

‘Fighting?’ She pursed her lips, trying to remind herself that he was still a warrior. ‘How many battles have you been in, Norseman?’

‘Danr, and more than I care to remember.’

‘Do you like fighting?’