Chapter 1
Tor
The boat sways beneath my feet, surging with the tide as the wind blows across my face. Ahead of us lies the rocky shore and the trees beyond it. My powerful, scarred hands grip the bow, a swell of excitement and hunger roaring through me. My blood blazes like fire through my veins, jaw clenching tight as my eyes pierce the shore. Being me, I can hear the men yelling—orders being barked and the clang of metal swords against shields.
This is the calm before the storm. This is the build-up before the explosive fury of battle. You can breathe the bloodlust on a Norseman’s ship in that moment before the prow hits land and we go jumping over the side to battle.
Except, today, there is no battle. There may be, if things don’t go as planned. But today isn’t about sacking a city, or pillaging a lord’s castle, though I know my men are hungry for it. No, today is about something else. Something more… personal.
Today, I’m taking her, and the rush I feel roaring through my veins at the thought of that is greater than any bloodlust. Greater than the promise of any plunder or prize. More satisfying than any glory or riches.
Today, after weeks of biding my time, and lusting, and craving, and obsessing to the point of madness, I’ll have my prize. I’ll have her in my hands, and once I do, she’ll be mine. I care not if she knows it yet. I care not that she’s currently on her way to be wed to some fancy, soft little prince of a lord. The type of man who trains with a wooden sword but who’s never felt the sting of steel against his shield. The sort of man who’s paid coin for others to fight for him. A man—nay, a boy—who sits back on his father’s riches and glorifies himself as a leader.
I detest a man like that.
But it isn’t hatred that drives me this day. It isn’t vengeance. In fact, it has nothing to do with the soft and pathetic little Lord Chauntleroy.
Nay, today, this is all about her.
My obsession. My claim. My conquest. My forever mate.
I groan, my hands tightening on the bow as my muscles clench and my teeth grind. Just the thought of her and knowing how close I am to having her in my grasp has my blood running hotter. It has my cock thickening to stone beneath my breeches—swelling big and hard, like it knows how close she is. I grunt, lust and adrenaline thundering through me as the boat crests a wave, the spray of sea water misting around me as my eyes blaze into the tree line.
Soon, my little Rhona. Soon.
It was weeks ago, during the wedding celebrations of Lord Hamish Ballentyne and his bride, Una, that I first laid eyes on my little bird. Dungow, Hamish’s cliff-side castle, was never going to be an easy take, but I’ve never been a man to settle for what’s easy. With risk comes glory, and Dungow castle holds the riches of centuries of wealthy lords. Dungow is also legendary for having never been breached, but the wedding was the perfect opportunity to slip some of my men in under disguise of guests or help.
But every battle, no matter how planned, can go either way. And when Lord Ballentyne’s men proved quicker to the defense than I anticipated, it was time to make an exit. After all, glory could be sought another day. With the call to retreat already sounded, I’d gone back into the castle during the fighting for one last search for treasure.
…What I’d found instead was worth more than all the gold and silver in the world. What I’d found instead was her.
Long auburn hair, wide, innocent blue doe-eyes. A button of a nose smattered with freckles. A fierceness in her gaze, even if I could see the fear there when I first stormed into the room to find her alone and unguarded. One look, and I was done. I knew it then, and I know it now. One look, and the battle around me fell away. One look and I was striding across the room, a growl in my throat and a hunger roaring through my veins.
We hadn’t spoken a word, but we didn’t have to. My hands slid around her waist and cupped her jaw. Her breath caught gasping on her lips, and those big blue eyes sparked with something so fierce and untamed as I drew her close, that I knew I was lost.
I kissed her. I tasted those lips. I swallowed her moans. There’d been the sound of what had to be half of Lord Ballentyne’s garrison charging down the hall, and I knew it was time for my exit. And then, just as quick as I’d found her, I left her—the taste of her lips lingering on mine. The memory of her little gasping moan hanging in my ears.