Read Online To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) by Gina Conkle - Free Book Online
Authors: Gina Conkle
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gaze dropped to her wide mouth and he was lost. The tiniest freckles outlined her lips save one fat mark on a corner. Temptation drew his eyes lower to a triangle of freckles on her chest.
Heat jolted his loins. The bottom tip of the triangle landed where her cleavage started.
If he laid her down, he’d suckle the freckle and smell her skin. All day.
Jewels graced the necks of highborn women, rare stones drawing the eye to high curves. No costly jewel could compete with Sestra’s utterly kissable freckle.
This close, he stifled a groan. When his gaze wandered back to her face, brown lashes fluttered low. A blush stained her cheeks. Where was the thrall with the quick tongue and saucy temper? The friendly, flirtatious woman serving ale most nights at the Henrikkson longhouse was not the same woman with him now.
Sestra picked at brambles snagged on her skirt. “My new tunic…” Her words trailed off when she discovered a tear in her sleeve.
The forlorn note in her voice touched him. It wasn’t simply a new tunic; it was her only tunic. Sestra was a woman who had little. Her life had never been her own. What she did here was courageous, a thrall endangering herself to save the lives of Uppsala’s free men and women. No firm oath had been given, ensuring she’d gain her freedom when this was done. Hakan couldn’t promise that. Sestra was giving of herself, demanding nothing in return.
And he nearly let lust get in the way.
With care, he pulled a pine needle from her hair and tossed it away. This close he saw the skin of her cleavage pebble from the gentle touch. Sestra faced him, and an ache formed in his chest. Taking a mind-clearing breath, he leaned the shovel and his shield against a tree. He surprised himself with a new want…the want to take care of her, to make her life easier.
His hands worked the tie which strapped his axe to his leg. “Tell you what,” he said, striving for the careless tone he saved for her alone. “You keep quiet until I search the clearing ahead, and I’ll chop all bushes and branches away to save your new tunic. When I’m done checking the area, talk all you want.”
“As in ask anything I want?”
A breeze stirred leaves overhead, forest music a gentle cadence in time with birds singing their day songs. Morning sun shined on Sestra, the rays catching rare gold strands in darker reds.
“Anything,” he said his voice thick.
Full breasts, red hair and you’re weak as an untried warrior.
“You promise to answer me truthfully?”
“ If you stay quiet. Including checking the clearing.” Like a fool he added, “And I’ll do the digging when we find the stone.”
She tapped his chest, laughing. “For that, I’ll stay quiet as a mouse.”
The cheer in her voice warmed him better than the sun. Like a besotted fool, he smiled back and slid the shovel into the strap holding Jormungand to his back and hooked the shield onto the shovel’s handle. He led the way, chopping branches big and small.
The trail took them to the island’s highest ground where thundering water filled the quiet. A waterfall, no taller than a ship’s mast, dumped into a deep, fast-moving waterway. Thick grass carpeted an inviting place overlooking the falls.
The boot prints he followed disappeared, but a few stones had been rolled away, branches unnaturally broken. He roamed the clearing’s perimeter, checking the surrounding trees. Thick pines crowded together. A few Larch trees yellowed in the forest green. No well-defined path of entry existed, yet he found their exit.
Whoever had been here was gone.
His wide circle ended on Sestra spreading her cloak on the grass near a pile of rocks. She stretched out on her stomach and shut her eyes. Her head rested, cheek down, on the makeshift blanket, a picture of contentment in the sun.
He swallowed hard, blood rushing between his legs. He’d traveled far, seen places proclaimed a wonder, yet nothing could match a woman’s form. Her form. The
Heat jolted his loins. The bottom tip of the triangle landed where her cleavage started.
If he laid her down, he’d suckle the freckle and smell her skin. All day.
Jewels graced the necks of highborn women, rare stones drawing the eye to high curves. No costly jewel could compete with Sestra’s utterly kissable freckle.
This close, he stifled a groan. When his gaze wandered back to her face, brown lashes fluttered low. A blush stained her cheeks. Where was the thrall with the quick tongue and saucy temper? The friendly, flirtatious woman serving ale most nights at the Henrikkson longhouse was not the same woman with him now.
Sestra picked at brambles snagged on her skirt. “My new tunic…” Her words trailed off when she discovered a tear in her sleeve.
The forlorn note in her voice touched him. It wasn’t simply a new tunic; it was her only tunic. Sestra was a woman who had little. Her life had never been her own. What she did here was courageous, a thrall endangering herself to save the lives of Uppsala’s free men and women. No firm oath had been given, ensuring she’d gain her freedom when this was done. Hakan couldn’t promise that. Sestra was giving of herself, demanding nothing in return.
And he nearly let lust get in the way.
With care, he pulled a pine needle from her hair and tossed it away. This close he saw the skin of her cleavage pebble from the gentle touch. Sestra faced him, and an ache formed in his chest. Taking a mind-clearing breath, he leaned the shovel and his shield against a tree. He surprised himself with a new want…the want to take care of her, to make her life easier.
His hands worked the tie which strapped his axe to his leg. “Tell you what,” he said, striving for the careless tone he saved for her alone. “You keep quiet until I search the clearing ahead, and I’ll chop all bushes and branches away to save your new tunic. When I’m done checking the area, talk all you want.”
“As in ask anything I want?”
A breeze stirred leaves overhead, forest music a gentle cadence in time with birds singing their day songs. Morning sun shined on Sestra, the rays catching rare gold strands in darker reds.
“Anything,” he said his voice thick.
Full breasts, red hair and you’re weak as an untried warrior.
“You promise to answer me truthfully?”
“ If you stay quiet. Including checking the clearing.” Like a fool he added, “And I’ll do the digging when we find the stone.”
She tapped his chest, laughing. “For that, I’ll stay quiet as a mouse.”
The cheer in her voice warmed him better than the sun. Like a besotted fool, he smiled back and slid the shovel into the strap holding Jormungand to his back and hooked the shield onto the shovel’s handle. He led the way, chopping branches big and small.
The trail took them to the island’s highest ground where thundering water filled the quiet. A waterfall, no taller than a ship’s mast, dumped into a deep, fast-moving waterway. Thick grass carpeted an inviting place overlooking the falls.
The boot prints he followed disappeared, but a few stones had been rolled away, branches unnaturally broken. He roamed the clearing’s perimeter, checking the surrounding trees. Thick pines crowded together. A few Larch trees yellowed in the forest green. No well-defined path of entry existed, yet he found their exit.
Whoever had been here was gone.
His wide circle ended on Sestra spreading her cloak on the grass near a pile of rocks. She stretched out on her stomach and shut her eyes. Her head rested, cheek down, on the makeshift blanket, a picture of contentment in the sun.
He swallowed hard, blood rushing between his legs. He’d traveled far, seen places proclaimed a wonder, yet nothing could match a woman’s form. Her form. The
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