Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife. Michelle Styles

captured hers, plundered them with expertise. His mouth drew the breath from her body, replaced it with a growing heat. Her body began to melt. A soft sigh escaped from her throat. His arms came around her, cradled her firmly against his body as her lips gave way under the onslaught.

      Practised. Planned. Cynical.

      Sela pushed against his chest with her last ounce of resolution, controlled her breathing and his arms fell away. Cool air encircled her as she sought to regain control of her breathing. Even in that brief span of time, her lips ached, longed for the warmth of his touch again, but she forced her body to remember how he had trampled her heart in the dust. She hoped he had missed her response.

      ‘My point proved.’ He inclined his head and a dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘We were good together. You and I.’

      ‘There is more to marriage than sexual attraction.’

      ‘Agreed, but it does help.’ He ran a finger down her cheek, and another pulse of warmth went unbidden through her. ‘It makes everything easier, less complicated.’

      ‘Our marriage died a long time ago.’ Sela jerked her head away. ‘It cannot be remade.’

      ‘I don’t believe I offered marriage. I simply stated the obvious.’ His eyes hardened. ‘You need a protector.’

      Sela crossed her arms over her aching breasts. She gave a short laugh. Brittle and too high pitched. She swallowed hard and tried again.

      ‘I agree—I need protecting…from you and men like you. Men who use and discard women.’ A small sense of satisfaction filled her as Vikar’s jaw tightened. The barb had hit home. Good. She waited another heartbeat, then continued, making sure her voice dripped honey. ‘And you? What does your new wife think of your adventures? Is she more accommodating? How many concubines do you keep?’

      Sela sought to keep control of her emotions. She was over him. She had to remember what he was like. She had seen the evidence, seen them with their heads together, laughing over some quip, her hand touching his cheek. It had been a knife in her heart.

      His lips twisted into a sardonic smile.

      ‘I have yet to remarry.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘Like you, my first experience left a bitter taste, but Thorkell keeps trying to convince me that marriage is a worthy state. Apparently I need children tumbling about my hall, like young puppies. Haakon agrees. He says it will change my life. The touch of my own flesh and blood clutching my finger.’

      Sela’s heart constricted and she shifted uneasily. How could she explain, if he did not know? How could she tell him about his son? How could she have Kjartan torn from her? She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hand.

      ‘And Asa? What does she say on the subject?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them—anything to keep away from the potentially disastrous subject of children. It was only when they echoed through the chamber that Sela realised how mean spirited they must sound.

      ‘Asa understands my reasoning.’ The green in his eyes grew cold. ‘It was a deep regret of hers that you two never became friends.’

      Sela tightened her lips. Asa had had no intention of ever being friends with Sela all those years ago. She had taken great delight in humiliating her, pointing out her every mistake, laughing at her dress sense, shaking her head in mock despair at Sela’s unsophisticated ways. It was only when Sela discovered Asa’s love token beside her bed that she had known the truth. But that was in the past. And the past was finished. There was no return. There was only the future.

      ‘I do not want to make a rash decision. Can I have some time to think about your generous offer?’ Sela nodded towards the hall as the shouts of the men grew louder. ‘Your men will need your expert direction about what to steal.’

      Vikar looked at her for a long time. Suddenly his green eyes blazed. ‘There can only be one answer, Sela.’

      ‘There is always more than one answer in life, Vikar. Haven’t you learnt that by now?’

      ‘I have bandied words with you for long enough.’

      His hand closed around her arm, and he led her to the little room where her father did his accounts.

      ‘Why have you taken me here?’

      ‘It is a place for you to be alone. A place where I know there are no secret passages—only one entrance and exit.’ He gave a small nod of satisfaction. ‘And the lock is complex. You need to turn the key three times.’

      Sela gritted her teeth. Vikar had neatly trapped her. There would be no escape from here. ‘My father gave you too many confidences. How will I get released from here? What must I do?’

      ‘It will be your choice, Sela. Just as it was your choice to end our marriage. But you have a protector.’

      ‘And if my father is found?’

      ‘You will become his responsibility, not mine.’

      With that, he swung the door and Sela heard the lock click into place. She sank to the floor and put her head on her knees.

      How long until Vikar discovered that she was hiding more than her father?

      

      ‘Bose the Dark escaped into the woods,’ Ivar reported when Vikar returned to the dragon ships. ‘It has been confirmed by three of our men.’

      The shoreline remained littered with fallen bodies and armour. Vikar shook his head. So much waste. All for what? Sela had to have known that she stood no chance with her host of ill-prepared and badly equipped men.

      Why had she fought? Why had her father let her fight while he had escaped? The image of Sela standing there, proud yet vulnerable in her borrowed armour, was one that would haunt him for ever. He should have seen, should have realised earlier. Thankfully, Odin had allowed him to reach her before she had been injured.

      ‘Who has gone in the search party? How many men did you send?’ Vikar glanced towards the dark forest. He knew the answer from Ivar’s slightly shifting stance.

      ‘By the time I had received word, he and his party were long gone.’ Ivar fingered the jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face, but did not meet Vikar’s eyes. ‘Our men would not have stood a chance in those trees. It is the realm of the wild men. I know the tales of how Bose the Dark subdued them, but they still lurk out there.’

      ‘Bose the Dark has spread many tales. Remember, this hall was supposed to be impossible to conquer.’ Vikar gave a satisfied smile. ‘I stopped believing in such things about the time I discovered a woman’s chest makes a soft pillow on which to lay my head.’

      ‘And I am sure many women would willingly provide that pillow.’

      ‘Not all.’ Vikar pressed his lips together and glanced towards where Sela was imprisoned. ‘I have no illusions, old friend.’

      ‘But you have proved luckier than most. Your bed is always warm. Whereas a man like me…’

      ‘Some might say that.’ Vikar stared over his friend’s shoulder.

      There was little point in shattering Ivar’s illusions. Vikar’s bed had been cold for weeks, months. He wanted something more than the physical release, something indefinable. The succession of bedfellows, amiable as they were, did nothing for him, except increase his sense of dissatisfaction, his sense that there was a huge gaping hole in his life. He felt more in that brief kiss with Sela than he had done with any of his recent bed-companions.

      Vikar turned his thoughts away from the memory of Sela’s lips trembling under his. Now was not the time for such things. He had an elusive jaarl to find, one who would employ every trick he could to stay one step ahead. One who would retake the hall and bring devastation to Viken if he could. A wounded animal was often the most dangerous. An old saying, but a true one.

      ‘How many men have you sent after Bose the Dark?’

      ‘None.’