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Authors: Karin Tabke
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her. He stood rooted to the ground as if he were a statue, his ravaged face twisted in fury.
If she were to die at his hands, she would not make it easy for him. She was not so foolish not to fear the man, but the outrage over what Dag had attempted to do, and now what she was sure this man would do, forced her to straighten her back. Her long hair hung in heavy damp curls down her chest, giving her some modesty, but not much. With that small comfort, tilting her chin up, Arian glared at him. His lips curled back from his teeth. She shivered hard, her bravado taking flight. Cold, wet, and terrified, she was more fearful of this man than of any other soul on earth. He was dark and violent. He had no compulsion in killing, and she was as vulnerable as a downy foal was to a pack of wolves. Her body trembled violently, and her belly roiled again.
He threw the ax to the ground next to Dag’s corpse, and stepped with a noticeable limp through the glade to the linen that lay damp on the ground. He reached down to pick it up. When he slowly stood, barely able to bear his weight, her eyes lifted to his, and instead of violence, she saw raw pain. He quickly masked it. He hid it behind a slow, crooked smile. His shockingly blue eyes glittered. “Are you lost, milady?” he asked in English.
He did not attempt to hide his nakedness from her, and she was all too aware that he was all male. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she felt a flush spatter across her chest.
“I—we—I—” She abruptly stopped and realized she was looking directly at him, and that he was moving! She dropped her eyes to the ground and Dag’s head. She cried out and turned farther around, now facing the forest. Her skin heated, her modesty sorely tested, for she knew he looked upon her with open want. She flinched when he placed the damp linen upon her shoulders, then wrapped it around her, turning her to face him.
She opened her mouth to protest his touching of her, but it seemed ridiculous. He had seen every inch of her and he had saved her from certain rape. As far as the flesh went, there were no secrets between her and this stranger.
She looked up to him. He was as tall as Dag and as muscled. He was as violent, but she cocked her head to one side and looked hard into his intense gaze. There were dark stormy shadows in his eyes. A man with painful secrets? “I am Arianrhod, daughter of Prince Hylcon of Dinefwr. I demand you return me to my train immediately.”
He turned away from her, ignoring her demand, and grabbing his braies and chauses from the shrub he began to dress. She could not help a glance at his muscular back and tight buttocks. He was long of leg and muscled there as well. Rough scars crisscrossed his back from the top of his shoulders to the back of his thighs. Arian cringed, and imagined his suffering. When he turned to face her, she felt the heat rise higher in her cheeks.
“Are you Saxon?” she demanded.
He smiled a crooked, knowing smile, but the gesture froze when loud voices called from the path. She gasped and darted past him. He grabbed her arm, pulling her hard against his chest, his lips inches from hers. “Not a word.”
Wide-eyed, she shook her head, struggling against him, and opened her mouth to scream. As Dag had, he slapped a hand across her mouth. She bit him and he cursed, but he did not flinch. He pushed harder, forcing her down to the ground; he splayed upon her and grabbed for his sword.
Breathing heavily, their breaths mingling hotly, he hissed, “One word and I will slice your tongue from your mouth.”
She tried to bite him again, and he forced her head back into the soft ground. “Do not be a fool! After they slay me for the Viking’s death they will look upon you for sport.”
At his last words, Arian stopped her struggling. His eyes narrowed but he kept his attention focused just ahead to the pool where Vikings and Welshmen alike scoured the area, calling for her and Dag.
When they moved to the
If she were to die at his hands, she would not make it easy for him. She was not so foolish not to fear the man, but the outrage over what Dag had attempted to do, and now what she was sure this man would do, forced her to straighten her back. Her long hair hung in heavy damp curls down her chest, giving her some modesty, but not much. With that small comfort, tilting her chin up, Arian glared at him. His lips curled back from his teeth. She shivered hard, her bravado taking flight. Cold, wet, and terrified, she was more fearful of this man than of any other soul on earth. He was dark and violent. He had no compulsion in killing, and she was as vulnerable as a downy foal was to a pack of wolves. Her body trembled violently, and her belly roiled again.
He threw the ax to the ground next to Dag’s corpse, and stepped with a noticeable limp through the glade to the linen that lay damp on the ground. He reached down to pick it up. When he slowly stood, barely able to bear his weight, her eyes lifted to his, and instead of violence, she saw raw pain. He quickly masked it. He hid it behind a slow, crooked smile. His shockingly blue eyes glittered. “Are you lost, milady?” he asked in English.
He did not attempt to hide his nakedness from her, and she was all too aware that he was all male. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she felt a flush spatter across her chest.
“I—we—I—” She abruptly stopped and realized she was looking directly at him, and that he was moving! She dropped her eyes to the ground and Dag’s head. She cried out and turned farther around, now facing the forest. Her skin heated, her modesty sorely tested, for she knew he looked upon her with open want. She flinched when he placed the damp linen upon her shoulders, then wrapped it around her, turning her to face him.
She opened her mouth to protest his touching of her, but it seemed ridiculous. He had seen every inch of her and he had saved her from certain rape. As far as the flesh went, there were no secrets between her and this stranger.
She looked up to him. He was as tall as Dag and as muscled. He was as violent, but she cocked her head to one side and looked hard into his intense gaze. There were dark stormy shadows in his eyes. A man with painful secrets? “I am Arianrhod, daughter of Prince Hylcon of Dinefwr. I demand you return me to my train immediately.”
He turned away from her, ignoring her demand, and grabbing his braies and chauses from the shrub he began to dress. She could not help a glance at his muscular back and tight buttocks. He was long of leg and muscled there as well. Rough scars crisscrossed his back from the top of his shoulders to the back of his thighs. Arian cringed, and imagined his suffering. When he turned to face her, she felt the heat rise higher in her cheeks.
“Are you Saxon?” she demanded.
He smiled a crooked, knowing smile, but the gesture froze when loud voices called from the path. She gasped and darted past him. He grabbed her arm, pulling her hard against his chest, his lips inches from hers. “Not a word.”
Wide-eyed, she shook her head, struggling against him, and opened her mouth to scream. As Dag had, he slapped a hand across her mouth. She bit him and he cursed, but he did not flinch. He pushed harder, forcing her down to the ground; he splayed upon her and grabbed for his sword.
Breathing heavily, their breaths mingling hotly, he hissed, “One word and I will slice your tongue from your mouth.”
She tried to bite him again, and he forced her head back into the soft ground. “Do not be a fool! After they slay me for the Viking’s death they will look upon you for sport.”
At his last words, Arian stopped her struggling. His eyes narrowed but he kept his attention focused just ahead to the pool where Vikings and Welshmen alike scoured the area, calling for her and Dag.
When they moved to the
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