The Viking's Captive(6)

Halvor then moved up close to him and drew his sword.

“No! No! Please, don’t hurt my father. He’s an old man, of no danger to you.”

Halvor was aware of tugging on his tunic. The woman was at his side, her small hands ineffective at getting him to change his stance, but she was annoying.

He shifted, elbowing her out of the way.

She tumbled to the right, landing against the table and bending over it, gasping for breath.

He returned his attention to the old man.

Fear danced in his eyes and his mouth was a thin, flat line. But still he held his chin tilted, defiant even in the face of an intruder twice his size. “Kill me, but don’t hurt the lass.”

“I’ll do what I want with you both.”

“Of that I’m certain.” The old man’s voice shook. “But allow me to ask for mercy, even if your race does not know of such a thing.”

Mercy! He understood mercy. He wasn’t an animal.

“You animal.” The girl was back, her fists thudding on his shoulder. “Leave us be.”

He spun to her, his shoulders rounded and his lips pulled back, baring his teeth.

Outside there were screams and shouts, the clatter of iron on iron, the crackle of fire reaching into the night sky. But all that dimmed. Before him stood the sweetest Celt he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart rate picked up, and a tug in his belly made him drag in a breath.

Despite her hair being messy, it was a beautiful dark color, matching her eyes. Her skin was pale, almost translucent and her cheekbones high beneath it. And her lips, pouty and red and pulled into such a downturn of anger, he almost laughed.

Almost.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She stepped back, as though his attention on her had drained some of her bravado. “And don’t even think about raping me, I’ll gouge out your eyes, bite you, bite your cock off.” She made a gnashing action with her teeth, snapping them together.

“We’ve only just met and you’re talking about my cock.” He took a step closer, enjoying the way it made her skitter backward. She quickly hit the opposite wall of the small room.

“Leave,” she said, “take what you want and leave. Leave us be, with our lives.”

“And why should I do that?” He set his palms on the stonework at either side of her head and looked down at her. “When you look like so much fun.”





Chapter Three


Duna thought she’d be sick with fear. Either that or her legs would give way and she’d go into one of those fainting episodes she’d seen other women in the village do.

The brute standing before her was the most terrifying creature she’d ever seen. And yes, he was a creature. No man of this earth could be so big, or so brutal. His sort were destroying the village, just as she’d predicted.

Predicted!

Her dreams flashed into her memory as she stared up at his face. Some of it was hidden by the strip of metal that came down from the center of his horned helmet. But those eyes, they were summer-sky blue, his lashes dark blond, and the hair growing on his jawline was darker. She snatched in a breath as her attention went to the black strokes of what appeared to be ink curling around the outer aspect of his right eye and onto his cheek.

But she had no intention of hanging about to study his strangeness, so she ducked beneath his arm, to the right, and made a dash for the door.

She didn’t get far. He caught her on her first step out into the night. He gripped her waist and slung her into the air as though she weighed nothing.

The next thing she knew her world had turned upside down. She was over his right shoulder, his hand flat on her ass.

“Get off me!” She hammered at his lower back, cursing the thick leather tunic he wore. “Put me down.”

“Bring back my daughter.” Her father’s voice, filled with panic, came from the cottage doorway.

Her captor spun around. “I have shown mercy, you have kept your life, old man, but in return you must give me something.”

“Anything, take me. But leave the lass here, where she belongs, unharmed.”

“No, the lass is what you’re giving me. She is mine now.”

She is mine now.

Those words screamed through Duna’s brain. “No! Never!” She kicked and flailed, fought to be released, but it was no good. She was well and truly held by him.

“No!” her father shouted. “Leave her be. She is my most treasured possession.”

The Viking acted as though her father hadn’t spoken. He turned into the wind and marched away from her home.

Duna grunted as her belly was pressed repeatedly against his shoulder. He was striding fast, through the village. Raising her head, she glanced around at the carnage.

Her neighbor lay dead on the ground, his house torched.

She spotted one of the Laird’s men, also dead, his face blood-covered.

“Where are you taking me? Stop.” She continued to kick, trying to jab her knees into the chest of the man stealing her away.

“Keep still.” Smack.

“Ouch!” A resounding slap had landed on her buttocks, right across both, his palm was so big. The heat spread. He’d put real male strength into it.

Good, that meant she’d hurt him with her knee jabbing.

She did it again, with more force.