The Viking's Captive(54)

“Wild?”

“Wild and wonderful, almost untamable.”

“Almost?” She found his lips and pressed hers to them.

“Aye, almost, because no matter how domesticated I make you, I get the feeling you’re always going to become a wildcat when you’re naked in my arms.”





Chapter Nineteen


Two months later



Halvor swung his hammer onto the post. He’d been working hard for a few hours on the vulnerable corner of the barn. It had taken him a while to decide what to do, for the earth there was a little sandy. But eventually Duna had come up with the idea of driving in stakes that were nearly as long as he was tall, to create bars deep in the earth. That way, should the wolves come in the winter, as they had in Duna’s dream, they wouldn’t be able to get past them. It would be like having a cage deep in the ground to protect his livestock.

Which he needed to do because hungry wolves in the barn would be a disaster. The animals they didn’t kill and eat would die of fright. Sheep were like that; their hearts stopped if they were scared.

When he was happy the last post was in deep, he slung his hammer to the side and began dragging big boulders over the spot to further deter any digging.

“Hey, Craw! Stop that!” He straightened and whistled. The new herding dog had a habit of rolling in the dirtiest patch in the yard he could find. Which meant Halvor was always having to fill pails from the spring and wash him down, otherwise Duna complained about the smell.

The black and tan dog stood and shook, covering Raven, who was standing next to him, in dust. Raven stepped away with a look of resigned weariness in his doggy eyes. The young dog, not much more than a pup, clearly was more of a hindrance than a help to Raven. But Halvor knew, come winter, and as Raven aged, they’d need Craw’s help. Plus, if wolves came, Raven would have another warrior to fight at his side.

“I’m back,” Duna called, strolling toward the longhouse holding a small basket. “I will make us food.”

“Ah, good, I’m hungry.”

She smiled. “I found mushrooms.”

He nodded. Mushroom season had started. Soon the temperature would fall away at night and leave a coat of what looked like tiny stars on the ground come morning. He was pleased Duna had worked as hard as he had over the summer; it meant their stocks for the winter months were high. They’d eat well during the snow season.

He was bare-chested and leaned over his pail. Scooping up water in the cup of his hands, he splashed it over his face, hair, and then his chest, ridding the sweat from his body. “Keep watch,” he said in his native tongue to Raven.

Raven turned to the meadow then sat, with his back rod straight and his ears pricked forward.

“And you,” Halvor said to Craw, pointing at the spot next to Raven. “You have to learn how to tell if a sheep gets into trouble.”

Craw turned in a complete circle then sat beside Raven. It was clearly too close for Raven, though, because he stood and moved a pace away then resumed his position.

Halvor smiled and shook his head. His stomach growled and he headed into the longhouse.

Duna was standing by the fire; she’d pulled her hair high onto her head, with a length of ribbon Nadir had given her, and it swung like a horse’s tail as she moved. He liked it.

“I have fixed the barn. Your dream was a good warning to its weakness.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled and plucked a handful of mushrooms from her basket. After dropping them into a pan, she added a sprig of herbs.

“I need ale,” Halvor said, licking his lips. It had been a hot morning’s work.

As he stepped past the fire, smoothing his palm over Duna’s ass, which was irresistible, he glanced into the pan.

He paused.

Looked closer.

“What are these?” he asked.

“Mushrooms. They are the same as the ones on the Shet Isles.”

He poked one. “No, these are not edible.”

“They are, Master.”

“No.” Damn it, not only were they inedible, they were deadly poisonous. “These are death angels, at least that’s what my mother called them. They will kill a grown man.”

“But—”

“No but, Duna. You should not have picked these, even less put them in a pot to cook as food.” He tipped the pan, scattering the toadstools into the flames.

Duna clasped her hands together. “I’m so sorry.”

“You could have killed us both.” He frowned at her. He blamed himself too, though. She wasn’t a native of this land, how would she have known?

“They look so like the ones we eat back home, that are safe.” There was a shake in her voice.

“You will never collect mushrooms again and cook them without showing me first, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Master.” She blinked rapidly a few times and looked at the floor.

He rammed his hands onto his hips. His heart rate had picked up at the very thought of Duna being poisoned, of dying. If he lost her he didn’t know how he’d carry on. She was his everything, the woman the gods had chosen for him.

“I have disappointed you,” she said.

“I believed your knowledge to be more than it was.”

“I should have checked first. It was foolish of me.” She stepped up to the table and reached for the breadboard. She slid it to the edge, then gathered her skirt up exposing her undergarments.