Viking's Claim (Kilts & Kisses #4)(12)

But I am tired of it. I’m tired of the orders. I’m tired of the endless warring. I’m tired of calling a tent or a small cabin on my ship a home, for years on end. Haraldsson’s way isn’t sustainable, and the longer I and my men keep taking orders from him, the more we stray from the true Viking code of personal freedom. And that is what I crave—more than any riches, or plunder, or power that I’ve wielded over the shores of this land. And deep down, I know my friends understand that, even if they jest with me about it.

So, yes. The plan, eventually, and hopefully soon, is to settle here, on the shores of Scotland. I already fully grasp how difficult it may prove, given who we are, and the violence we’ve inflicted on these lands. It may even be impossible, but I know what I need—what we all need—as true, free people of the North.

…Stealing fucking horses that we neither need nor can even take care of, is not going to aid in that struggle.

Erik sighs, putting an arm over Freya’s shoulders and nodding at me.

“Tor’s plan is a good one, sister.”

She makes a face, but she shrugs. I know they all know I’m right. I know they know that staying this current course for Haraldsson’s senseless campaign will end with us dead, for no good reason. Dying while raiding a village or plundering some lord’s castle is not dying in “glorious combat.” There’s no glory in that. No Valhalla.

Freya sighs again as she looks at me, and this time, she smiles wryly. “Aye, I know.”

“Do you?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, Tor.”

“So, we agree that you’ll take these horses back in the morning?”

She and Ivar both start to protest, but one sharp raise of my brow silences them.

“Aye,” Ivar mutters. “Fine. We’ll return them.”

Erik is quiet a moment as he studies me.

“Why are you half-naked?”

I scowl.

“It’s warm out.”

“So warm that you decided to air out your balls, eh?” Ivar snorts, nodding at my half-unlaced breeches.

My jaw grinds as the four of them chuckle.

“Tor’s found himself some company,” Bjorn says slyly.

“Oh?” Erik crosses his arms over his chest. “You? You have actually taken a woman?” He whistles. “We were actually beginning to wonder, Tor—”

I cut him off with a snarl, and he grins.

“Who is she?”

“A highland girl,” Bjorn throws in. I turn and glare at him, but he just keeps going.

“A lord’s daughter.”

The other three go silent.

“You…” Ivar frowns. “You stole a lord’s daughter, and you’re mad at us for taking fucking horses?”

I keep my mouth shut; my face grim.

“That was a shit idea, Tor,” Freya mutters, shaking her head. “Men and not thinking with the right head, gods.”

I relent with a small grin, shaking my head.

“It isn’t like that. And I didn’t steal—”

Bjorn cuts me off with a stern look and I clear my throat.

“I may have stolen her, but it’s not what you think.”

“Oh?” Erik glares at me. “And then what is it, Tor? You’ve found true love? Going to marry this girl and make her your—”

“Yes.”

My voice is steel and ice as it cuts through the air, and the four of them instantly go quiet.

Erik’s brows go up.

“Well this is interesting.”

“That’s one way of saying it,” Bjorn growls.

“A highlander lord’s daughter…” Ivar whistles lowly. “There’ll be trouble, you know. Big trouble.”

“Aye, there may be,” I growl. “But it is my trouble to deal with.”

Erik grins. “And take all the fun yourself? No, Tor. Should trouble come, it will be ours to deal with.”

I shake my head. “No. I won’t ask that of you.”

“Then don’t,” Freya shrugs. “But you must know by now how bad we are at listening to you.”

I grin. “Aye. A downright mutinous crew you are.”

Ivar eyes me, his face still hardened.

“And are you prepared to fight her kinsmen when they come for her? Kill her father, brothers, whoever?”

My jaw tightens. I know the answer is no, and that knowledge alone is enough to make my head twist around. I’ve never shied away from a fight, nor from bloodshed. I know in my heart that I’d kill for Rhona. But I won’t kill her kin.

My friends and their newly acquired horses go off to find some ale and food, but I stay by the fire a minute more, looking into the flames.

Rhona and the way I feel for her is a conflict with who I am as a warrior and as a fighter. But there’s no hard choice there. For her? I’d give it all up. All the riches, all the glory, all the rush that comes from battle.

Because she’s the greatest rush. My greatest treasure. My only glory.

The flames lick at the starry sky as I while, hunger in my eyes as I storm back for the tent, and to my woman.





Chapter 8





Rhona




When I hear the tent flaps open, I’m seething.