Return of the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles

watching her intently for any signs of softening and understanding. For months he’d hoped for a word of reprieve, but nothing had arrived. ‘The silence was deafening, but I knew what my father required. Return a hero or die. Pay my debts without his help.’

      Kara dipped her head so that her loose hair fell over her face, hiding her expression. Ash watched a tiny heartbeat pulse in the hollow of her throat. Silently he prayed she’d understand what he’d gone through and would forgive him.

      ‘The tribute was paid years ago, from the estate,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘Shipwrecks happen because the gods wish it. He wanted his son.’

      ‘My father wanted to preserve the honour of his dead son as he’d no use for the living one,’ Ash corrected her with an impatient wave of his hand. Didn’t she understand—it had to come from him, from what he’d earned, rather than from what he’d been given? ‘My father should not have suffered for my mistakes. None should have suffered but me.’

      ‘Are you that wealthy?’ she asked lifting her head so her deep blue gaze met his. ‘Four years to pay everyone. Jaarlshiem is one of the most productive farms in Raumerike.’

      ‘Yes, I am. My last voyage became a raid on a church filled to the brim with gold and silver. My share provided the final amount and more.’ He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face so he could gaze directly into her eyes. ‘I came home, Kara. You will not want for anything. I know my duty now that my father is dead and I will do it. You are my wife.’

      He bent his head, preparing to taste her lips and see if they were as sweet as he remembered. To kiss away her anger like he had done in the past.

      Kara twisted out of his grip. Her gaze became fixed on the grinning statue of Loki, which dominated the priest’s antechamber, rather than drowning in the deep blue pools of Ash’s eyes. That god-like Ash had a silver tongue to charm people.

      It would be so easy to give in and taste Ash’s lips. Her entire being wanted to. But she knew kissing Ash would be a mistake. Her attraction to Ash was the hangover from a girlish fantasy. He couldn’t just smile at her, touch her hand and make seven years disappear as if they were nothing. Her days of unabashed adoration and ready excuses had finished when her father-in-law had showed her the sort of man Ash truly was. He most definitely had not been the golden hero of her dreams who would magically appear to solve her problems.

      Ash had thirsted after glory, putting it before everyone and everything, and he had found it. But how long until he needed to quench his thirst again? This time she had to consider Rurik as well as herself.

      She’d grown up in the intervening years. A necessity. She had taken responsibility. She’d run the estate very successfully. She’d done all the practical things that Ash should have been doing, if he had put his quest for glory to one side. Now he expected her to melt in his arms as if nothing had happened, as if she was the same simple infatuated girl who always forgave him with a smile. Romantic words melted like dirty slush in the sunlight of practicality.

      ‘This isn’t the right time or place,’ she said, fixing him with her eye as if he were the same age as Rurik and had done some mischief. ‘We’re in a temple. People expect to see us at this so-called welcoming feast.’

      The excuse sounded weak to her ears. She lifted her chin and glared as if he were Rurik caught in some misdeed. He appeared amused rather than appropriately cowed.

      ‘Kara, let go of your anger.’ He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. The warmth invaded her body, melting the ice which had encased her soul for so long. ‘What purpose does it serve? What matters is the future, our future. As long as the mead and ale flow, the feast will be deemed a success.’

      ‘Keep away from me!’ She took a step back from him. ‘Your touch does nothing for me.’

      Her body protested at the lie. A subtle brush of his hand and her internal flame sparked into a glow. For six years, she had considered it dead. Why did it have to be Ash and only Ash who did this to her? She wrapped her arms about her body, struggling not to lean in to him.

      Slowly, he lowered his hands. She stumbled backwards.

      ‘Careful. I don’t want you to fall.’

      She raised her chin. ‘My balance is excellent. Thank you.’

      Kara put her hand over the spot where his hand had been. Warmth pulsed through her. She concentrated on breathing steadily.

      ‘A problem, wife?’ he enquired softly. ‘You used to beg for them—one, two, three. Have you forgotten so soon?’

      Kara ground her teeth. Beg for his kisses! She’d behaved worse than she recalled. Or was he remembering another of his women? She had never begged. Asked, maybe. Hoped for, definitely. Did he take her for a simpleton?

      ‘Your memory is faulty.’

      He gave a triumphant male smile. ‘Can you remember the kiss you begged for under the apple tree with the blossom falling all about you? I can. I asked you to marry me afterwards and you agreed.’

      ‘Seven years, Ash Hringson,’ Kara ground out, turning so she faced the Loki statue. He’d asked her to marry him because he’d wanted a ship to sail off and have adventures in, not because he wanted more of her innocent kisses. She hated that she had once believed the lie of his unswerving devotion.

      Twisting events to suit his purpose, a trait he shared with his son. She was finished with being an apologist for his actions, always searching for the good. ‘You could have sent word of your progress, but chose not to. We’re strangers now. Walking back into my life and expecting to take up where we left off is a mistake. It will not happen. I will not allow my heart or life to be trampled on.’

      ‘You are my wife.’ Ash’s brows knit together as his hand fell to his side. ‘It is natural for a husband to kiss his wife, particularly after a long absence. Especially after a long absence.’

      Unbridled fury coursed through her veins. She spun round and managed to stop herself from shaking him by the narrowest of threads. ‘Until I know for certain that I want this marriage to continue, I keep a separate bed.’

      The words hung between them. The adoring girl she’d once been cringed. After she’d agreed to their marriage, whenever she protested about something, he’d kissed her until her senses had spun with desire. With so much at stake, she couldn’t afford to return to that girl.

      His face became ice-carved, emphasising the half-moon scar on his chin. Instead of the young man she remembered, a fierce warrior stood before her. Then, like the sun coming between the clouds on an autumn day, he smiled.

      ‘Of course we shall stay married, Kara. You’re simply a bit put out and not thinking clearly. I’m hardly to blame. The message went astray.’

      A bit put out? Kara’s jaw dropped. Ash made it seem like he had been gone for a few months and that she was overreacting. He should understand that seven years was an age and she needed time. They both did. Things had changed. She had changed. Going back to being the romantic dreamer she had been all those years ago was impossible. She had Rurik to protect.

      Her stomach dropped. Rurik. He didn’t know. She had to tell Ash about their son. She glanced about her at the statues and incense burners. But not here. Not now. He’d just heard about his father’s death. She wasn’t ready to explain the full story of Rurik’s birth. It had to be done carefully.

      She struggled with a calming breath. ‘It is far more than a fit of pique over a small slight. I’m within my rights to divorce you. We haven’t shared a bed for over five years. Consider my request for time as payment of your life debt to me if you must, but give me that time. Do not seek to seduce me.’

      His eyes regarded her with a thoughtful expression.

      ‘You’re within your rights even without demanding payment for the life debt,’ he said and held out his hands. An indulgent smile played on his lips. ‘If it is what my beautiful wife wants, who am I to deny the request?’