Not that he would do such a thing. He had already trespassed on her time and insulted her. The last thing he needed was to upset her further by suggesting a tumble and he still didn’t know if she was an innocent or not. The man’s clothing and her circumstances hinted at a man in her past and her reaction to his kiss had not been one of a virgin.
By the gods, he was getting hard again. He gathered the clothing and slipped on the shirt. “Forgive me,” he murmured as she clenched and unclenched her fists. “You must know I am most grateful for your help and I know I am impeding on your hospitality. I swear as soon as I can, I shall be gone and no longer be a burden to you.”
Her answering breath was low and slow, like a lover’s after a climax. Alrek itched to know if that’s how Ilisa responded after she had been brought to the peak of pleasure. Or maybe she cried out, like the siren she was.
“You are no burden, Alrek.”
“But I have put you in danger?”
“The villagers do not like Vikings. I do not know how they’ll react if they discover you here. I shall probably be accused of harbouring the enemy.”
He nodded. Of course the locals wouldn’t appreciate his presence. The Norse had an ill reputation with the Picts and for good reason. In his earlier days he had taken part in enough raids to understand why, but that was behind him now. It was important to him Ilisa knew that.
“You understand I mean you no harm?” She chewed her lip, leaving it glossy and plump. Ripe. Delicious. He shook away the images that assailed him—of where he’d like those lips. “And that I intend to protect you from any danger while I am here?”
Ilisa relaxed her hands and offered a reluctant smile. “Aye, I believe you, Alrek the Bold. But just because I do, doesn’t mean anyone else will. Dress as a Pict and stay out of sight should anyone visit.”
“I am lucky indeed that you found me, Ilisa,” he said softly.
Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Aye, that you are. Now, I have no fire thanks to you but I have some bread and honey that will do nicely for our supper.”
She turned before he could respond, so he instead took the moment to admire her. Alrek meant what he had said. He had been lucky. Any other man—or woman for that matter—would have left him for dead. Nothing more than a watery grave for Alrek the Bold—like his fellow shipmates. A pang of grief struck his heart but he refused to contemplate it. In battle and life there was little time for grief. For now, he had to consider what the future held for him. Somehow he needed to get off this island and continue his journey to Iceland. And leave Ilisa behind…
He studied the curve of her rear as it pressed against the gown while she busied herself smearing honey onto chunks of bread. Ilisa clearly worked hard and from what he had seen, he liked her temperament. Alrek admired that fiery spark of independence, and enjoyed the softer side that had saved his life. He’d be hard pressed to find a better woman with beauty that equalled hers. He let his lips twist while he pondered the possibility of persuading her to accompany him to Iceland.
A marriage to a Norseman? By the gods, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. A woman like Ilisa—one with a fighter’s soul hidden beneath that woman’s touch—would never consider betraying her heritage by marrying a Viking. And he barely knew her. That hadn’t mattered much to him anyway. He was fully intending to find a useful, attractive woman and take her out with him whether he knew her well or not. He needed heirs and help building his farm. Many Pictish women would jump at the chance of seeking out new lands and he’d always had a fondness for them.
But never had he been so entranced. He’d been staring as she busied herself. He must have traced that soft profile, from the red lashes to the point of her chin and that graceful neck hundreds of times in that instant. To see her, it seemed, was necessary to him. As necessary as his heart beating in his chest. Then words flowed from her mouth and he wasn’t sure he even needed his heart to keep beating. Perhaps Ilisa could sustain him. Her soft voice streamed through his veins as she sang, entrancing and energizing him. The cuts and bruises on his back still throbbed, his head panged, but a few moments of listening to her and he felt ready to run into battle. Something he had not had the will to do in a long while.
However, for Ilisa… for Ilisa, he would die.
He scrubbed a hand across his bristled chin and stared at her. Alrek smirked. For this woman he barely knew, he would do what he had vowed never to do again. Fight, spill blood, take a life. What power did Ilisa have over him?
She faced him and handed him a platter with bread on. She cleared her throat and dropped her shoulders. “Forgive me. I do not even know when I’m singing. It’s a habit… If it irks you, just say.” She seated herself on the chair opposite and picked at the bread.