Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

‘I like wielding a sword. I like the discipline, the skill...’

‘The killing?’

‘No.’ His expression darkened. ‘I never enjoy that. Some men might, but I don’t.’

‘Then why do it? Power? Land?’

He heaved a sigh. ‘There are lots of reasons for fighting, some better than others. Sometimes it’s a matter of survival, sometimes honour, sometimes it’s to hold on to what’s yours, but to take another man’s life...it’s a terrible thing.’

‘What about women? Families?’

‘No!’ A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘I would never harm innocents.’

‘Some warriors do.’

‘Then maybe I am a different kind of warrior after all.’

She held on to his gaze for a few seconds and then reached for her bowl. The tone of his voice was angry, as if he really meant what he was saying. As if some warriors were different, as if he really was... She took a mouthful of soup and then blinked.

‘This is delicious.’

‘You needn’t sound so surprised. You’ve enjoyed everything else I’ve cooked, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, but this is nettle soup. I’ve made it a hundred times, but it’s never tasted like this.’ She tipped her head to one side, regarding him as if he were some kind of new species. ‘How did you learn to cook like this?’

‘There was an old woman who lived with us when I was a boy. I was talkative even back then, but she listened to me. One day I asked her to teach me, so she did.’ He shrugged. ‘I used to cook for my mother. It was one of the few ways I could please her.’

‘Your mother?’ She couldn’t resist asking. He’d said something about being a bastard... ‘Where is she now?’

‘She was in Maerr, but she died. Sixteen years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She paused briefly before curiosity got the better of her again. ‘What was she like?’

‘Raven-haired and beautiful.’ His expression warmed though there was a faint look of anguish in his eyes, too. ‘Her name was Saorla and she was the sister of an Irish king—or so we recently discovered. My father met her when he was a young man and carried her away with him when he left. Of course he promised her everything, his love and devotion as well as a life of comfort and riches in his kingdom of Maerr. What he didn’t tell her was that he already had a wife.’

‘You mean he lied to her?’

‘Blatantly, yes.’ His jaw muscles tightened again. ‘So having shamed and humiliated her, he made her his concubine instead.’ He reached down and picked up a twig, using it to draw a pattern in the dirt. ‘My father was a great warrior and Jarl, but where women were concerned, he wasn’t a good man. He only thought of himself. My mother learnt that the hard way.’

‘Why didn’t she go back to Eireann?’

‘At first because she had no way to get there. Then my brother Rurik and I were born and we bound her to Maerr for ever.’ He threw the twig away with a grimace. ‘So she made the best of a bad situation.’

She blinked. ‘That seems a strange way to think of yourself.’

‘It’s only the truth. She did her best for us, but she was never happy. As for our father, she loved and hated him, I think, and who could blame her? Most of the time they just argued.’

‘You weren’t close to her, then?’

‘Rurik was always closer to her in looks and appearance, whereas I...well, I took after our father. It made things difficult. In any case, she died of a fever when Rurik and I were eight and after that we moved into our father’s hall.’

‘Rurik...’ The name was familiar. ‘You spoke of him before.’

‘What?’ His brows snapped together. ‘When?’

‘When you were unconsc

ious. You said other names, too, but he was the one you mentioned the most.’