Viking's Claim (Kilts & Kisses #4)(2)

…That and sneaking myself inside through a side door and laying hands on my prize once more.

It was the same as the first time—no time, no words. Just one kiss, and one taste of those whimpered moans teasing through my ears and setting me ablaze. I left her with a necklace—a pretty trinket in her eyes, but a claim in mine. A mark. A reminder to her, so she’d know how mine she was. I’d been tempted to just take her right there, over my shoulder and out the same side door. But it wasn’t the time.

Now it is.

Today, my patience, and my waiting is at its end. Today, she’ll be mine.

“My Jarl.”

I blink, realizing how close we are to the shore as I turn at the sound of Bjorn, one of my captains, voice.

“We’re ready.”

“Aye,” I rumble, turning again to eye the shore as my hand goes to my sword. My muscles tighten, eyes narrow, and my grip tightens on the bow. There’s the familiar jerk and crunching sound as the reinforced hull rakes against the rocky bottom of the shallows—the boat lurching with the impact. And then instinct kicks in. Muscle memory from thousands of battles and conquests snaps into play, and I’m snarling as I lunge over the side of the longboat, landing in the shallow surf and running for the shore, the sound of my men following.

I’ve spent a lifetime making the world fear me and taking from it. Conquering it. Plundering it. Claiming what’s mine to take. But Rhona?

My jaw tightens as my boots hit the rocky shore, the smell of the woods washing over me.

She’ll be my final conquest.

She’ll be the only prize that matters.

She’ll be mine. And if she doesn’t know it yet, she’s damn well about to.





Chapter 2





Rhona




The sulk settles over my face with every bump in the road. Every shudder of the wagon deepens my scowl, and every mile closer we get to a fate I dread has my heart sinking lower and lower.

I’ve been betrothed to Lord Chauntleroy for almost a year now. So, knowing I was going to eventually marry him has been a dread setting over me for quite a while. I’ve had time to try and make peace with it—to convince myself that somewhere in that smug arrogance and overly-primped and coiffed exterior, there’d be a man who could be a true and good husband.

And yet a year later, I’m even less into the idea of Lord Chauntleroy than I was the day I was told I’d be marrying him. And that’s really saying something.

It could be his entitled arrogance. It could be the disdainful way he speaks to those he considers under him, which apparently includes me. It could be the ridiculous fancy clothes he struts around in, or perhaps the disgusting way he’s mentioned every time I’ve seen him in the last year that I’d “better give him a son, and quickly, or he’ll find someone who can.”

Charming, I know.

But it could also be that our wedding date has suddenly been bumped up by a full month. It could be that last night, I was abruptly told that I’d be getting married the very next day, before being hurled into a wagon and hurried on my way to Lord Chauntleroy’s castle—wedding dress and all, to be married this very day, as soon as I arrive. All my plans for having my four good friends Una, Ailith, Catriona, and Iona be there with me when it happens, gone, with no time to even tell them that my dreaded plans have changed for the worse.

But then, there’s something else that could be causing the storm of emotions rolling though my head and my heart. And it’s got nothing to do with Thomas Chauntleroy. It doesn’t even have anything to do with my best friends.

…It has everything to do with him.

The one they call a demon, or the devil. The man most men—the smart ones at least—fear. The dark, brooding, dangerous, terrifying, utterly forbidden and heart-stoppingly beautiful man who barged into my world weeks before and hasn’t left since.

The one who stole that kiss—my first kiss.

…The one who stole my second one, too.

I’m promised to marry the frilly Highland Lord Chauntleroy, but my every thought has been stolen by the most feared Viking marauder in the world.

Tor Odinson. It’s a name that strikes fear into brave men’s hearts. It’s the name of terror and nightmares. It’s the name of the man who’s invaded my very dreams every single night since that first one, leaving me panting and embarrassingly… well, wanting when I wake from them.

My parents and the rest of the world expect me to willingly marry Lord Chauntleroy. God, even I expect it. And yet, I can’t get that huge, hulking, terrifying and gorgeous Viking out of my head. And the harder I try, the worse it gets. My hand slides to my neck, slipping under the high collar of my dress to let my fingers slip over the thing silver chain. They trace lower, following the chain down between the valley of my breasts, where they find the pendant itself—circular, smooth, and covered with runic Norse symbols.

He gave it to me, the second night he stormed into my world. It was the night of my friend Ailith’s wedding to Lord Malcolm McAuley, when his castle was about to be attacked by Lord Carlson, who Ailith was supposed to marry before Malcolm literally stole her away. That night, the full might of Tor’s marauder fleet had suddenly appeared, smashing through Lord Carlson’s forces to win the day. But while everyone else was bemused at the infamously savage Viking coming to “rescue” Malcolm’s castle, I knew the real reason.