“Nay!”
He inched closer still. Ilisa darted a glance behind her and realised she had backed herself onto the ledge of the cliff. One wrong step and she’d tumble to her death. Wind caught her skirts, the roar of waves, so vicious and unforgiving made her heart stick in her throat.
“Galan,” she pleaded when he stepped close enough to push her or pull her into him. At that moment, she wasn’t sure what he would do. Deep, dark pools of passion swelled in his gaze. But it wasn’t a pure passion, a mere need for another. It was a wrathful, ugly desire that made promises of revenge if she did not do as he said.
“I shall run this Viking through and take you. I have tried being kind and patient but it has been too long. I need heirs and no other woman will do.”
“Y-you shall do nothing of the sort.” Her voice wavered, lost in the gusting wind and rolling waves.
He snatched her arm. His fingers pinched her skin and she wobbled on her heels. Awareness of the great drop behind her made her unsteady on her feet. When she peered down the cliff face, her head swam. She normally never stood so close, mindful of that fact she got dizzy when looking down from a great height. It would take a mere flick of a finger to push her over, she suspected. Ilisa stared into Galan’s stormy eyes, pleaded silently with him.
Galan’s grip loosened abruptly and she cried out as she faltered. Another hand gripped her arm and tugged her away from the edge. She slammed into a chest and let out another sound of surprise. Alrek tucked her into his side and held his axe aloft, pointing it at Galan who had stumbled to the ground, presumably pulled back by Alrek.
“Be gone, Pict,” Alrek commanded. “Should you return, you shall suffer the wrath of my axe. I promise I shall behead you.”
Galan put a hand to his throat and clambered to his feet. “You shall regret stepping foot on Pictish soil, Viking.” He turned to eye Ilisa. “And you shall regret taking a Viking into your bed. That much I promise.”
Alrek tightened his grip on Ilisa’s shoulders. “If you value your life, you shall do nothing. You have seen what Vikings can do. Any attempt to harm Ilisa shall be viewed as an act of war.”
“I have no wish to harm Ilisa. I always get what I want and soon enough she shall be mine.” The Pict smirked. “Anyway, I see no army.”
“You will soon enough,” Alrek said with confidence that had even Ilisa believing the Vikings might land soon.
“We shall see who is the true victor soon enough, Viking.” Galan tilted his head back, an eye on the axe still directed at him. “The spoils of war are not always gold it seems, are they? Ilisa, be wary of this man. Do not forget what the Vikings did to your brother and husband. Do not forget he is the enemy.”
Galan whirled around, his cloak fluttering like the wings of a raven. He strode back to his horse while they watched and waited. Alrek’s hold slipped around her waist and his large palm smoothed up and down her side. She waited until Galan had mounted his horse and galloped off before turning to Alrek.
“Thank you, Alrek. I know not what he would have done.”
He lowered his head and peered at her from under his brow. “It seems I have brought you much trouble.”
Ilisa shook her head. “Galan has been causing trouble for many years now. He will not take no for an answer. I should have known it would only be a matter of time before he thought he could force me.”
“He is right. You cannot defend yourself against that man.”
Concern haunted his blue eyes. It pulled her heart tight against her chest. Her gaze dropped to his lips, eyed the golden hair around them, flecked with a few silver strands. She recalled the coarseness against her skin and how warm and vital he felt. No one had ever showed such concern for her—not even her brother and Donnie who were used to her fiery temperament and believed her to be capable of looking after herself.
And she was, but occasionally she longed to share that burden. This stranger had done more for her in two days than any man had done for her in a lifetime.
A coarse palm came up to cup one side of her face. His fingers thread into her hair and his hand practically covered the entire side of her face. Alrek did the same with his other hand, his hold secure, warm and vital. His strength poured into her and Ilisa lifted her gaze to his once more. His searched hers, but for what she didn’t know. She longed to offer it to him—offer herself really—but Galan was right, the man was still her enemy and he would always be in danger as long as he remained here. Their culture and their people divided them.
Alrek lowered his head and Ilisa stopped breathing. Her lungs seared, her heart thudded agonizingly. But he didn’t kiss her. Only pressed his forehead to hers, his long nose aligning with her profile. Their lips were close enough that if she pursed hers, they would touch, but she found herself unable to move. Alrek understood—understood the divide between them and understood her need for him. Was his as great as hers?