“I did not know Norsemen killed your family,” he murmured.
She nodded against his head and cast her eyes down. Fingers gripping his shirt, Ilisa held him to her, fearful he might leave her. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t kissed her. As much as she longed for it, having his strong body touching her was enough for now. Like a great rock, he supported her. The pain and exhaustion of the past four summers seemed to leach out of her. And into him?
“I am sorry,” Alrek whispered, palms smoothing over her cheeks. “I would not have blamed you for leaving me for dead.”
“I know you are not like them, Alrek. I could never regret rescuing you.”
He didn’t respond. They stood on the blustery cliff top for many long moments until his movements stilled and she felt his chest rise as he drew in a deep breath. Alrek dropped one hand and the other, before easing back. Ilisa gulped and her insides felt as though they were filled with stone and yet tangled in excitement. The weight from knowing nothing could happen, the excitement from just looking at him. This wild, savage Viking whose blue gaze tenderly sketched her form.
“Come now, let us return. You have weaving to do, do you not? And I fear some more rain shall be along soon. I’d intended to patch up the holes in your roof.”
“You had?” She pressed a palm to her chest as the ache grew.
“Aye.”
“Alrek, I—Thank you.” To her dismay, her eyes seared with tears and she swiped at them.
Alrek offered her a hand and she took it. Their hands fit so perfectly together and she admired the contrast of their skin. Ilisa peeked sideways at him, knowing she likely looked at him as if he were one of the gods he always spoke of. Alrek caught her look, offered her a tilted smile that was haunted with uncertainty.
She squeezed his hand in a bid to reassure him. Did Galan concern him? Or something else? Did he think her angry with him? How could she hold him responsible for other’s actions? Alrek had proved himself time and again in such a short period of time. How would she feel if someone judged her on other Picts’ behaviour—someone like Galan, who had little care for others?
Nay, she knew this Viking was no savage. In fact, he was probably the best man she had ever known.
Chapter Seven
The rain stayed away for several days, allowing Alrek to finish fixing Ilisa’s roof. He leaned back to admire his work and paused to listen to her singing as she weaved. He would never tire of hearing that sound. They had fallen into a perfect routine. They tended the sheep and fetched the water together, then she prepared their food while he washed. He would chop wood and she would clean up and wash. During the day, he worked to fix her home and rebuild the stone wall. She sang, weaved and cooked. In the evenings, they talked of their cultures—she of the old Pagan ways of the Picts and he of their gods and his homeland. His heart had slowly become etched into the soil of this land. Or maybe into Ilisa’s life.
But he held one thing back—his past. And while his desire for her refused to ebb, he refused to give into it. How could he when he had been little better than the Norse who had slain her husband and brother? How many innocent lives had he taken during raids? He couldn’t be sure. Blood lust had controlled his every move at that age. He’d been brought up to be a warrior, taught that to be anything else was weak. He wasn’t so sure now.
“Will you come down for some food?” Ilisa called, jarring him from his thoughts.
He swiped a hand across his brow and peered down at her. Hands propped on hips, she beamed at him. The last of the evening sun warmed her hair and silhouetted her figure. Alrek recognised the stirrings of desire in his blood. While he hoped a ship would turn up and relieve him from the torture that was being in such close confines with this siren, his stomach grew heavy with dread too. Would he be leaving her in danger?
“I will be just a moment.” He checked the straw one last time, drew in a breath and gathered himself before climbing down.
“Is it all done?”
“Aye, you should have no more problems for quite some time.”
“I thank you, Alrek. That roof has been neglected for too long.” She put a hand to his forearm. Her fingers singed his skin through the linen. Who would have thought such tiny hands could have that effect? “Now come and eat. You deserve a good meal after that.”
“Let me clean up. I am dirty after crawling around on the straw.”
Ilisa nodded and left him. The scent of cooked vegetables drifted from the door as she opened it and his stomach grumbled. Not only was Ilisa a beautiful woman, she was a fine cook. No wonder Galan wanted her for his own. His appetite diminished when he thought of the dark-haired Pict. Once Alrek left, would Galan force himself on Ilisa again? Or harm her? If he hadn’t interfered those few days ago, he imagined Galan might have pushed Ilisa to her death.