Paying the Viking's Price. Michelle Styles

to banish the feeling, but it grew. Edith concentrated on a spot above his shoulder, rather than falling into his gaze again.

      ‘I merely wanted to warn you of my failings. Personally I have always found it most profitable to employ people where they were best suited.’

      He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. The rest of her speech died on her lips.

      ‘I assume you know how to play tafl, sing and make amusing conversation?’ he asked in a voice laced with heavy irony. ‘That you are not devoid of culture in the North Riding?’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Edith said, tapping her slipper on the ground. How dare the Norseman infer that she was some sort of barely cultured barbarian, instead of him! ‘Those are the things people do in polite society.’

      He leant forwards until their foreheads touched. ‘You should have no problem in your new role. Keep in mind that you need to please me and we will get along well. I’m far from ungenerous to those who please me.’

      ‘But...’

      His breath caressed her cheek. ‘You fear we won’t suit. That I will have no idea of your tender sensibilities as I have spent my entire life soldiering and sleeping on the ground rather than on a soft bed. You fear the barbarian.’

      Edith shook her head quickly, too quickly. Her body tingled with awareness of him and his proximity to her. She tried to think straight, but all she could think about was the blueness of his eyes, the broadness of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. ‘I hadn’t really considered where you have spent the night. I have no idea of your needs.’

      ‘Shall I demonstrate? My needs are simple.’ He put his hands on her shoulders, preventing her from moving, even if she wanted to. Edith found her feet had turned to stone, but his touch was oddly gentle rather than rough. A warmth radiated outwards from his fingers, infusing her body.

      Edith lifted her chin and met his sardonic gaze. He intended on teaching her a lesson. She shuddered slightly, remembering the lessons that Egbert had taught her and how her body had borne bruises for weeks afterwards. Swallowing hard, she screwed up her eyes and hoped.

      ‘Don’t be frightened of me,’ he murmured. ‘It won’t hurt. I never hurt my women.’

      His mouth descended, brushing hers. Far more gentle than she had considered possible, but firm enough to be there and not her imaginings. Questing and seeking, rather than hard and demanding.

      Her eyes flew open and she saw all traces of mockery or sardonic dark humour had vanished.

      Her body arched towards him and collided with his hard muscular frame. Her hand reached up and her lips parted slightly. She tasted his lips and the warmth grew within her. She moaned slightly in the back of her throat.

      He lifted his head. The kiss was over. He let her go, stepped away and eyed her with a cynical expression.

      ‘I have found the correct person for the position, despite your protestations.’

      Edith knew her breathing was coming a little too quickly and her lips felt far too full. Shame washed over her. She’d done it again, responded inappropriately.

      ‘What was that supposed to prove?’ she asked, forcing her eyebrow to arch. She hated that her voice sounded breathless.

      His lips turned upwards. ‘That you will prove to be an adequate concubine...in time.’

      ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ She clenched the folds of her skirt with her hand.

      ‘You don’t? Think on it. No doubt the answer will come to you, Lady Edith.’

      * * *

      Brand forced his body to remain still and unmoving as he sought to master his emotions. He never chased after a woman. They came to him. Lady Edith might stride away as though he represented the devil incarnate, but there had been something in her kiss. She’d be back, demanding more. He tasted his lips to see if the taste of her mouth lingered or merely the memory of honey-sweet lips.

      Women were to be enjoyed for the moment, rather than taken into one’s heart and cherished. He’d seen what happened when you fell in love and bore the scars for daring to love a woman who was destined for his half-brother. Brand absently fingered his neck. He’d learnt his lesson early—never to rely on a woman, particularly one who declares her love in troubled times.

      ‘You think you’ll win, Lady Edith, but I know your type. You might have a pretty face, but you possess the same steel selfishness that my father’s wife had,’ he said softly, touching the pouch where the keys now resided. She hadn’t wanted to give those up! He would find what each opened and what she sought to keep hidden. Above all she’d learn that he was not to be treated like a fool. ‘You will learn who the master is now. And I will find out exactly what you think is not mine! I will unlock all your secrets.’

      ‘Ah, there you are, Brand,’ Hrearek said, striding towards him, his craggy features split with a wide grin. ‘You told me to find you when we discovered something hidden. We’ve found a locked storehouse.’

      ‘You admit I was right.’

      ‘The gods love you, Brand.’ Hrearek slapped his hand against his trousers. ‘The woman didn’t lie. This is a hugely profitable and well-run estate, even if they have tried to hide it well. You are truly fortunate. How do you do it? Time and again?’

      ‘The harder I work, the more fortunate I have been. It is the only secret.’

      Hrearek frowned. ‘If that is the way you wish to play it, then so be it. I am sure there is more to your success. You must have been born under a lucky star.’

      ‘It only seems that way now. No one would have said that ten years ago.’

      ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

      ‘You should. Now, where is this locked storeroom? Hopefully you have obeyed orders and not forced the door.’

      ‘How will we get it open?’

      ‘I have the means. Lady Edith has been most accommodating.’ Brand pulled out the circlet of keys. He didn’t doubt that Lady Edith knew of the stash. Whether or not she was responsible for the estate’s profitability remained to be seen. Keeping it hidden from the casual raider was one thing, but keeping it hidden so that it could be used for another rebellion was quite another. ‘It belongs to me. Show me.’

      ‘With pleasure.’

      * * *

      Brand regarded the large quantity of sheep’s wool that Hrearek and his men had found carefully secreted in what looked like a disused hut. The barns and other storage areas had a few bits in them, but this hut possessed a great quantity of wool.

      ‘You were right, Brand!’ Hrearek exclaimed. ‘Some day you must teach me to read. That witch never mentioned this stash of wool. I listened hard enough and remembered. I don’t trust these Northumbrians. They’d steal and lie quick as you like. You are far too soft. There will be another rebellion unless they know we are the masters with iron fists.’

      Brand fingered the wool, good wool which could easily be sold in Jorvik. ‘She expected us to leave after a quick inspection. We were supposed to take her offering and go. She had it completely planned.’

      ‘She doesn’t know you!’ Hrearek laughed. ‘You have a cunning mind.’

      Brand frowned. This haul had been far too easy to find. There was something more here. Had to be. From a distant place in his mind, he recalled his mother explaining how, as a girl in Ireland, her mother had always made sure that any raiders would find some items easily and the family would not lose everything.

      Had Lady Edith played the same trick? What was the true reason that she put staying here above her honour? She wasn’t a natural concubine, despite the passion in her kiss. She possessed a calculating mind. He looked forward to playing tafl with her, pitting his wits against hers and unwrapping