The Viking's Captive Princess. Michelle Styles

the ale far too early. Promise me that you won’t say anything either. The last thing we want is for Far to lose his temper and start boasting about how he bested King Thorkell and therefore can beat any man. Remember how the last time he clutched his heart and turned beet red?’

      Ice swept through Thyre. ‘I promise to keep silent.’

      ‘I will be back before the bread is finished. I promise you that. No one will even miss me.’

      Thyre watched as Dagmar hurried purposefully from the kitchen. She shook her head, trying to clear it of foreboding. She had done the right thing by lighting the bonfire. She had done the only thing she could. The blood-red moon would be wrong this time. Change was not coming.

      

      The late afternoon air was cool against Ivar’s face after the heat of the bathing hut. The repairs to the ship had gone much as he had foreseen. The storm’s damage was not as great as Erik the Black had feared. The mast appeared sound.

      The gods favoured the brave. This bay was perfect for ship building with its stands of straight trees. He would have to open negotiations. Undoubtedly Thyre would find a reason to become involved. There was something about the way she challenged him with her eyes that said she knew more than she was letting on.

      He regretted that she had not appeared at the bath hut. Instead a gaggle of simpering and sighing maids had appeared to stoke the fire and make sure it was at the right temperature.

      A movement in the shadows caused his muscles to coil. He relaxed slightly when he discerned Thyre’s midnight-black hair. What game was she playing now, scanning the sky as she balanced a basket on her hip? Ivar moved stealthily nearer.

      ‘Ah, here I discover you, Thyre,’ he said smoothly when he had nearly reached her.

      Rather than jumping, she calmly tilted her head to one side. Her tongue wet her lips, making them strawberry red. ‘Were you searching for me?’

      ‘I have been searching for you or someone like you…for what seems to be a long time.’ Ivar smiled his most seductive smile. Thyre would provide a bit of sport for the evening, but then he would sail away. It was far better than allowing the thrill of the chase to fade and for recriminations to start. No, a single night of pleasure with her suited him.

      He waited for the flirtatious sigh.

      She lifted her eyebrow and her lips turned down slightly at the corners. ‘Pretty words, Viken. Do I melt at your feet now or can it wait? The feast preoccupies my thoughts for now. Personally, melting has never held much appeal and I’d prefer to postpone the moment if at all possible.’

      He drew his brows together, disconcerted. ‘Pretty words for a beautiful woman, but they are sincere. I have been searching for you.’

      ‘Your life must be very empty, then.’ She tapped her boot against the earth, standing her ground as her hand on her hip emphasised the smallness of her waist.

      Ivar schooled his features and waited. He had lost count of how many times he had played these sorts of games. She was tempted despite her protestations. He had forgotten how much fun it could be to spar with a woman, particularly a woman who had brains.

      ‘You should find something more fulfilling to occupy your time than waiting for women,’ she said.

      ‘My life is full enough. All I need is the sea and a soft place to lay my head.’ He took a step closer, laid a hand on her shoulder and noticed how her body leant slightly towards him, her breasts brushing his forearm. ‘But right now it is missing something, something I desperately need, something I believe only you can give me.’

      ‘Desperation can lead to mistakes.’ Her voice had a catch in it. ‘I have learnt to stop searching. You should be content with what you have.’

      ‘I shall have to give you a reason to start searching again. Discovery can be rewarding.’

      Their breath mingled. She would only have to sway slightly and their shoulders would touch. His hands would pull her to him and his mouth would encounter hers. Would it be soft or firm? Ivar wondered.

      She moved imperceptibly towards him and he gave into impulse. His mouth touched hers—sweet and firm, inviting.

      With an effort Ivar regained control and ended it after the briefest of tastes. She would be the one to beg for the next kiss.

      ‘Please…’ she whispered and her hands came up to rest on his chest.

      ‘Please what?’ he inquired softly, but he made no move to recapture her mouth. She had to make the request.

      ‘Why are you searching? What are you searching for?’

      Ivar stepped away and allowed the air to rush between them.

      ‘At last the question I wanted. Fresh rope for my ship. Two lines broke in the storm.’ He held out his hands and a smile stretched across his face. ‘What else would I be searching for?’

      ‘Oh, that is…I mean, I had thought…’ Thyre put her hand to her mouth. How had she, who prided herself on avoiding warriors’ seduction, fallen so neatly into his trap? She had allowed him to kiss her. And if he had not stopped…the kiss would have gone on and deepened. She refused to think about what could have happened. Even now, her body longed for his touch. ‘The rope is kept in the outer workshop. One of the thralls can get it for you. You should have said straight away. Then we would not have had to have this conversation.’

      ‘Is this conversation distasteful?’

      ‘Unasked for.’ Thyre gave her most crushing nod.

      ‘Any unasked thoughts are coming from you, Thyre, and not from me.’ He paused, his eyes twinkling like the sea on a summer’s day.

      Thyre shifted uncomfortably. Had she been the one? Who had made the first move?

      He leant forwards again and lowered his voice to a seductive caress. ‘But you are welcome to share those thoughts with me. Never let it be said that I acted without considering a woman’s wishes. Or forcing her.’

      ‘No, that is to say…’ Thyre stopped. Her hands touched her mother’s amulet, which hung around her neck, and she regained control. She had more intelligence in her little finger than most warriors possessed in their whole bodies. She gave this warrior’s intelligence far too much credit. He was a man like any other. ‘It is best to be straightforward and honest.’

      ‘I always am. I find it saves time.’ He tilted his head to one side, assessing her. ‘And you were prepared to offer something else? It is a pity that I was so forthcoming about my request.’

      ‘I wasn’t prepared to offer anything!’

      ‘Who are you trying to convince? Me?’ He reached out a finger and traced the outline of her lips in the air above them and instantly they ached as if he had kissed them again. ‘Or you?’

      Thyre held her body still, resisting the temptation to turn her face into his palm. Ivar made no move towards her. He simply stood close, waiting, without touching. Each heartbeat seemed to take an age. Thyre knew she should step away, but her feet refused to move.

      ‘You were mistaken,’ she said evenly. ‘I have no need to convince anyone.’

      His face sobered and he stared at her. ‘How long has your stepfather been in this bay?’

      Thyre blinked. Ice water crashed through her veins. He thought to confuse her and then to obtain information about the bay and its defences. She should have realised that the Viken jaarl would have a great deal of cunning.

      ‘Since the king began his reign. He is very proud of his farm. Our goats and sheep are renowned for their wool and milk.’ Thyre gave a careful laugh. She wanted to believe his story about only needing repairs. His ship certainly showed signs of damage, but was there another reason? Who had been chasing whom in that storm? Sigmund had sworn blind that his ships were only for defence, meaning Ivar must have been the attacker.