“You taste like a siren,” he murmured, drawing back briefly. “I could lose myself to you, Ilisa.”
She relished the warm touch of his palms on her cheeks, their coarseness as electrifying as a storm. It made her skin tingle and her body sensitize. The heat on either side of her face blazed into her mind and she gasped, tugging back. He dropped his hands, eyes shuttering with disappointment. Ilisa ignored the dropping sensation in her chest and stared at his free hands and the splintered bedframe.
Alrek lifted his shoulders. “Forgive me. I forgot myself.” He eased himself up to sitting, the blanket pooling around his hips and revealing the wide expanse of his chest to her. A chest that he could pull her against and crush her in one movement. She stumbled back and reached for the sword but her shaking arms refused to lift it so she gripped the pommel uselessly.
“You… you could have done that all along?”
“Aye. But I did not. See you have nothing to fear from me.”
Her knees juddered beneath her. To think she’d believed a few ropes could restrain him. But he was right. She did not fear he would harm her. Not now. Now she feared her reaction to him. What was she thinking? In the moment his lips had touched hers, she had been his to do with as he wished. If he had decided to bed her, she would have given herself up willingly.
To a Viking!
A Viking who was likely no different from the men who had killed her husband and attacked the village four summers ago.
She released the pommel and smoothed her hands down her skirts. “Aye, I see that,” she said shakily. “Well, there is your drink.” She nodded to the table. “I-I…I must check on the flock. I shall return in but a moment.”
Without glancing to see his reaction, she scurried from the hut, the wooden door slamming behind her. Wind whipped across the headland, cool and fresh, bringing with it the promise of more rain. Ilisa pinched the bridge of her nose. Mayhap he thought her scared of him. Well, let him think that. He had broken her bed after all. She hitched up her skirts and picked her way across the muddy ground to where the flock sat high up on the hill. A stone wall, crumbling and covered in moss marked the boundary of her land. She paused and sat on it. The sheep would need shearing soon and she would have much work on her hands.
Ilisa studied her red palms. Once they had been soft and well cared for but since the death of Donnie, she’d laboured like a farmhand to support herself. With no dowry and their few riches taken from them by the Vikings, she had no other choice. A few of the young lads would come to help in return for wool when the time came. She should be grateful for that. If it was up to Galan, no one would help her and she’d have little chance of keeping on top of her chores. He made no secret of wanting to be her next husband. Ilisa wrinkled her nose at the thought of Galan lying in the place Alrek currently occupied. A more arrogant man, she’d never met. Galan would treat her no better than one of her sheep. She would never be bound to such a man.
But for now, she should be worrying about the man who occupied her bed. He seemed well enough. The cut on his head had stopped bleeding but what to do with him? Send him on his way perhaps? But to where? Straightening her shoulders, Ilisa stood and cast her gaze over the flock once more, satisfied all was well. What else was she going to do? Avoid him forever? The sun had already dropped in the sky, casting amber flickers over the hills. A chill seeped into her bones. The night promised to be cold and she had no firewood.
“Do not even think on it, Ilisa,” she scolded herself under her breath when a thought of how she could stay warm occurred—a vision of steely flesh pressing against hers, of crisp hair rasping over her tender skin.
Mud squelching beneath her feet, she shook off the image and made her way to the cottage. The dwelling seemed dwarfed by the scenery behind it—the great rolling hills and dark cliff tops that dropped off into the ocean. What must Alrek think of the dishevelled building with its patchy roof and crumbling walls? Unfortunately she had little time to look after her home as well as the flock.
Hand to the weather-beaten wood, she paused at the door and filled her lungs with the sea scented air. Holding that breath, she stepped in. Her lungs deflated and Ilisa released a small sound. “What are you doing?”
Alrek stood by the rear window, the blanket fisted around his waist, a cloth in his other hand. He whirled around and Ilisa had to bite her tongue to keep from making any further embarrassing sounds. Lying down he had been impressive. Standing, he sucked the air from her chest and twisted her stomach into knots. He had lit several tallow candles and the smoke clouded the air. The swirling glow highlighted the dips on his torso and Ilisa clamped her hands to her sides. As she’d been undressing him, she’d longed to trace those ridges and now that desire struck again.