Read Online Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 by The Rover Defiant - Free Book Online Page A

smiling, though her nervousness was evident in the rigid set of her shoulders.
    It struck him in an instant of blinding clarity that Freyja had destined him to be this woman’s protector. “Do not be afraid, Sonja. I believe the gods have decreed we be together. I will move mountains to make you mine.”
    She tightened her grip on his hands as a tear trickled down her cheek. “How can it be, Torstein? My father will punish us both if he thinks I have spoken your name.”
    He pulled her closer. “What will he do if I kiss you?”
    Her lips parted, her eyes fixed on his mouth. “It would be folly,” she murmured.
    He put his arms around her waist, pinning her hands behind her back, drawing her against him. The scent of freshness and purity that clung to her filled his nostrils. “My kiss will be my pledge to you,” he whispered, lowering his head to touch his lips to hers.
    She sagged back against the wall of the house, pulling him to her body. A throaty moan escaped her lips as his tongue coaxed her mouth open and she melted into him, welcoming his invasion into her warm mouth. His body responded fiercely, but it wasn’t simply lust filling his senses. He’d never shared the taste of another’s saliva, nor savored the tang of salt on another person’s skin.
    Her kiss was life giving. He would never give her up. “This is my first kiss,” he rasped when their lips reluctantly parted.
    She smiled, her dark eyes full of longing. “Your mother must have kissed you.”
    He shook his head. “My mother called herself a lost soul. She was an Irish princess stolen from her land by my grandfather, Magnus Gardbruker. It seems my grandmother was a jealous woman who allowed him no concubines. He gave his prize to his son, Gunnar, my father.”
    “She must have loved you,” she said, cupping his face with both hands. Her loving touch, the first he’d ever experienced, evoked a memory of the Archbishop preaching of the coming of the Holy Spirit and how it had filled the fearful apostles with peace.
    He shrugged his shoulders, struggling to force the words from his dry throat. “My mother had seen twelve summers when she bore me. I remember she cried a lot. Gunnar quickly tired of her and she never learned to speak Norse properly. Her one pleasure came from speaking the Gaelig with Padraig, an Irish monk who was one of Poppa’s slaves. She wanted to teach it to me, but Gunnar forbade it.”
    “What happened to Padraig?”
    “The Franks killed him near Chartres, but I believe his heart died when my mother was sold off in the market at Ribe. There was nothing physical between them. They provided an anchor to the past for each other, a reminder of who they truly were.”
    He hoped his anger at the cruelty of fate wouldn’t repulse her.
    “It’s ironic,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Hrolf Ganger brings back a captive from Bayeux, and because he is enamored of her, he never makes her his slave. Poppa is now the legitimate wife of the Duke of the Norsemen, and your mother is lost forever, if she still lives.”
    His heart lifted. She understood his torment. “And their son, Vilhelm, will no doubt succeed his father as our ruler.”
    “But you have noble Irish blood in your veins,” she said with a sly smile. “They say Irishmen are stubborn.”
    He clenched his fists. “You will see how stubborn I can be if anyone tries to part us.”
    She frowned and pulled away from him as the sound of a door creaking open came to their ears. “They’re coming,” she whispered.
    He gripped her hand. “I must be assured you are with me in this, Sonja. It will be our secret for the time being, but I want your pledge now.”
    She stared at her feet. “I don’t have your courage, but I promise myself to you.” She lifted an amulet on a long cord from around her neck and thrust it into his hands, then hurried to the door as her mother appeared.
    “There you are, silly girl. Come and say goodbye to our guests. What