“Wretched, wretched Viking.”
A thudding sound from outside made her pause halfway through tying her hair. She dropped the linen strip and let her hair go loose. Was it Galan? Or one of the village boys? Or… or an attacker? Curses, it would be just her luck.
She tiptoed to the door and put her eye to the gap. Her breath jammed in her throat. Alrek. A smile burst across her face and she almost ripped open the door to run out to him but when he straightened, his solemn expression stilled her. He stroked a hand across the plank of wood he held. A strip from his ship. Was he mourning his friends or being stuck here with her? He’d shown little emotion when it came to the ship wreck yesterday but what more did she expect from a warrior?
Smoothing both hands down her gown, she patted her hair and opened the door. The instant he spotted her, the sorrow vanished and a grin replaced it. Her insides swooped and whirled. A fresh breeze blew across the hills, stronger than yesterday. Further up the headland, grey clouds loomed over head. A storm was brewing, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside her. Lightning fired off in her mind, thunder rolled in her belly.
Alrek wore no shirt—just his own trews from the previous day. They were soaked, as was his chest. A pile of wood sat at his feet. The wind stirred his long fair hair and what little sun managed to escape the clouds glinted on his chest. Exotic and dangerous were the words that tumbled through her mind when she eyed him. With the small braids in his hair and the swirling knot patterns on his chest and arms, he made her mouth dry.
Their gazes locked, the world stilled. Even the crash of waves seemed dulled. Only the thud of her heart against her ribs could be heard.
“I… brought you some wood.”
His words split the air. Ilisa mentally shook herself and dragged hergaze to the pile of wood. Warmth filled her chest. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“I did not want you to be cold again and I know I stopped you from collecting wood yesterday.” He dropped his gaze and scuffed a foot over the patchy grass.
“I appreciate it, thank you, Alrek.” She gulped and puffed out a breath, determined to gain back some composure. Her eyes felt hot at his small gesture. “Some of this was from your ship?”
“Aye, it appears so.” His voice betrayed no sorrow but he lost some of the power to his stance, his shoulders rounded slightly.
“I am sorry.” Ilisa hesitated, tempted to step forward and take him into an embrace, but she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate it. “You must change now. You still look like a Viking and you are wet.”
Alrek scowled and peered at his trews, as if surprised by her observation. “I think I shall still look like a Viking in Pictish clothes.”
He did. He also looked beautiful and enchanting but she couldn’t admit to that. How exciting he seemed compared to the Pictish men. “Aye, well there is little we can do about that but should anyone see you from a distance they will not consider approaching.” She hoped. Harbouring a Viking threatened to put her and her farm in jeopardy.
Alrek tilted his head back and viewed her down his nose. “You fear what might happen,” he stated.
“You are a Viking, Alrek. The enemy.”
“You will be in no danger with me at your side, Ilisa.”
In spite of herself, she allowed her gaze to sketch a path over the breadth of his shoulders and down his arms. She didn’t doubt it. But if any of her countrymen discovered him, they would have more than a few angry Picts to deal with and what about when he was gone?
“Alrek, pray just change,” she said on a sigh.
He eyed her and she prepared herself for an argument but he dipped his head in acquiescence. “As you bid.”
Ilisa didn’t watch him leave. Tension thread through her, coiling tight in her lower belly. The last thing she needed was to watch the ripple of his muscles as he sauntered back to her cottage with no clue as to the effect he had on her. And all the while her lips burned in remembrance. A siren, he’d called her. She had never considered herself a great beauty. Her bright hair made her stand out and feel at odds with the other villagers. Even her brother had been dark-haired.
But she had to admit to being flattered by his words. The Viking certainly charmed her in a way no other man had.
Observing the heavy clouds in the distance, Ilisa wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Something hung in the air—a great change. Perhaps brought about by the Viking. Had fate intended to deposit him in her lap? In which case, what was she meant to do with him? She pressed her lips together and considered the things she’d like to do. Foolish thoughts of touching him again, of kissing him deeper and harder this time. But their cultures divided them, as did the sins of his people. Whatever this voyage had meant to Alrek, she didn’t doubt he would wish to complete it.