Read Online Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series by The Defiant Heart - Free Book Online
Authors: The Defiant Heart
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relief, he was absorbed in play with the child — children — she corrected as she discovered a second little boy, clad in blue, identical to the first.
The Dane caught the babe up beneath the arms. Stepping deeper into the water, he swung the child round in a wide circle, lifting and dipping the boy in one continuous, wavelike motion.
Ailinn watched, momentarily transfixed by the warm, familial scene playing out before her. It stunned her to see this caring side of a Norseman. At the same time she found herself wholly affected by the sheer magnificence of the man.
He moved with power and grace — beautiful, potent, thrilling to behold. The word leonine again sprang to mind, as it had yesterday, when her eyes first encountered him. The long lines of his body appeared supple, resilient, yet well defined. Their underlying strength had been forged, she imagined, through years of discipline and rigorous training.
Ailinn gazed on the rich play of muscle through his chest and arms, then drifted her eyes to his handsome features. She noted the ease of his smile and the unmistakable affection contained in his eyes as he looked on the babe and lifted him heavenward.
Ailinn returned her attention to the garment in her hands and began to beat it with the small paddle. His? she wondered of the children, noting they bore him little resemblance, what with their ebony locks and what appeared to be thumb-size impressions in their little chins. He had none, though she thought to have glimpsed dimples in his cheeks.
She whisked a glance to the Dane and back again. Aye, dimples. Creases, really. Deep ones. In each cheek.
Ailinn reversed the cloth and pounded it soundly.
And his eyes . . . she summoned them to mind. His eyes were as blue as the lakes of Killarney, though lighter — brilliant and clear. The children’s were indiscernible at this distance, obviously not the same sparkling shade.
Ailinn rubbed soap into a stain, then stayed her busy hands, startled that a nything about the Dane should be of concern to her. She turned the cloth over and took up the paddle again.
Of course the man would have children, she reasoned with herself. Likely he had sired more than these two.
Ailinn stole a sideways glance o f his splendid frame. Many more. Indeed, what woman would turn him from her bed?
She plunged the garment into the water and sloshed it around. Withdrawing it, she wrung it hard, then slapped it down on the growing pile of sodden cloths.
As Ailinn reached for another linen, she felt the heat of his eyes upon her. Imagination, she chided herself and dismissed the unsettling feeling. Still, the sensation remained.
Slowly she lifted her gaze and immediately lost herself in a crystal blue sea. Ailinn took a long, difficult swallow, her mouth and throat suddenly gone dry. Several moments passed, an eternity, before she could pull away from his intense regard.
She lowered her eyes — a mistake — for they came to rest upon his flat, tapering waist. Then the narrow strip of cloth fastened low about his hips. Then his long, hard, marvelously sculpted legs.
Ailinn ’s heart began to thud high in her chest and sound in her ears.
The vibrations of the wharf-planking alerted her to Thora ’s approach. A moment later the Norsewoman barked out some displeasure and gave a jarring shove to her back. Ailinn nearly pitched from the landing, inadvertently toppling a small mound of Thora’s chemises into the water.
Pain seared her scalp as Thora dragged her upright by the hair. Ailinn saw the Dane start forward, thunder in his face. But at the same time she glimpsed Thora ’s hand in her edge of vision, drawing back to strike.
“ Skallagrim!” Ailinn hurled the name as though it were a weapon.
Thora stayed her hand midair and growled beneath her breath. Releasing Ailinn, she stepped back, lips thinned and nostrils flared. She then jabbed a finger toward the fallen clothes, carping in shrill tones until Ailinn retrieved them
The Dane caught the babe up beneath the arms. Stepping deeper into the water, he swung the child round in a wide circle, lifting and dipping the boy in one continuous, wavelike motion.
Ailinn watched, momentarily transfixed by the warm, familial scene playing out before her. It stunned her to see this caring side of a Norseman. At the same time she found herself wholly affected by the sheer magnificence of the man.
He moved with power and grace — beautiful, potent, thrilling to behold. The word leonine again sprang to mind, as it had yesterday, when her eyes first encountered him. The long lines of his body appeared supple, resilient, yet well defined. Their underlying strength had been forged, she imagined, through years of discipline and rigorous training.
Ailinn gazed on the rich play of muscle through his chest and arms, then drifted her eyes to his handsome features. She noted the ease of his smile and the unmistakable affection contained in his eyes as he looked on the babe and lifted him heavenward.
Ailinn returned her attention to the garment in her hands and began to beat it with the small paddle. His? she wondered of the children, noting they bore him little resemblance, what with their ebony locks and what appeared to be thumb-size impressions in their little chins. He had none, though she thought to have glimpsed dimples in his cheeks.
She whisked a glance to the Dane and back again. Aye, dimples. Creases, really. Deep ones. In each cheek.
Ailinn reversed the cloth and pounded it soundly.
And his eyes . . . she summoned them to mind. His eyes were as blue as the lakes of Killarney, though lighter — brilliant and clear. The children’s were indiscernible at this distance, obviously not the same sparkling shade.
Ailinn rubbed soap into a stain, then stayed her busy hands, startled that a nything about the Dane should be of concern to her. She turned the cloth over and took up the paddle again.
Of course the man would have children, she reasoned with herself. Likely he had sired more than these two.
Ailinn stole a sideways glance o f his splendid frame. Many more. Indeed, what woman would turn him from her bed?
She plunged the garment into the water and sloshed it around. Withdrawing it, she wrung it hard, then slapped it down on the growing pile of sodden cloths.
As Ailinn reached for another linen, she felt the heat of his eyes upon her. Imagination, she chided herself and dismissed the unsettling feeling. Still, the sensation remained.
Slowly she lifted her gaze and immediately lost herself in a crystal blue sea. Ailinn took a long, difficult swallow, her mouth and throat suddenly gone dry. Several moments passed, an eternity, before she could pull away from his intense regard.
She lowered her eyes — a mistake — for they came to rest upon his flat, tapering waist. Then the narrow strip of cloth fastened low about his hips. Then his long, hard, marvelously sculpted legs.
Ailinn ’s heart began to thud high in her chest and sound in her ears.
The vibrations of the wharf-planking alerted her to Thora ’s approach. A moment later the Norsewoman barked out some displeasure and gave a jarring shove to her back. Ailinn nearly pitched from the landing, inadvertently toppling a small mound of Thora’s chemises into the water.
Pain seared her scalp as Thora dragged her upright by the hair. Ailinn saw the Dane start forward, thunder in his face. But at the same time she glimpsed Thora ’s hand in her edge of vision, drawing back to strike.
“ Skallagrim!” Ailinn hurled the name as though it were a weapon.
Thora stayed her hand midair and growled beneath her breath. Releasing Ailinn, she stepped back, lips thinned and nostrils flared. She then jabbed a finger toward the fallen clothes, carping in shrill tones until Ailinn retrieved them
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