Read Online Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set by Tanya Anne Crosby, Miriam Minger, Shelly Thacker, Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online Page A

from sleep. One side had slipped down, exposing the smooth, round cap of her shoulder. There she had a blue tattoo like those engraved on Pict warriors. It was an intriguing three-looped knot that had no beginning or end. Her hair was mussed in a careless way that reminded him of long nights tussling in bed. Her feet were deliciously bare, and her frayed shift revealed the supple curve of her calf and her ankle, which also bore an inked design, this one in the shape of a broken sword. But it was her mouth that was the most alluring. He remembered that mouth now. He’d kissed her, and her lips had been as sweet and soft as wild blackberries.
    His loins tightened, and guilt made him grind his teeth against desire. But willing it away didn’t make it disappear, and while the woman continued to herd the sheep and her daughter out of the cottage, Brandr fought to keep his thoughts on survival, escape, anything but the beautiful, feminine silhouette revealed by the dawning sun as she opened the door.
    Avril silently cursed herself for oversleeping. Keeping Kimbery safe meant being up and about before the wee lass could get herself into trouble. She’d certainly found trouble this morning, letting the ewe into the cottage. Avril wondered if she’d been such a handful at that age.
    From the doorway, she watched Kimmie lead the sheep back to her pen. “Make sure you close the gate,” she called.
    Then she turned and caught the Northman staring at her. He looked like a warrior, stern and hardened, about to march into battle. His eyes were hooded, and his jaw was tight. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath as his gaze slowly coursed up the length of her. Finally, he met her eyes.
    A flash of heat like lightning seared her as she recognized his expression. She’d been wrong. It wasn’t a warrior’s bloodlust. It was desire, pure and direct. Her breath caught, and her face turned to flame. But his ice-blue gaze did nothing to quench the fire, instead fueling her distress.
    She clenched her fists. She should curse him, clout him, kick him. Yet she did nothing. Though the urge to rebuff him was strong, the compelling lust in his eyes was even stronger.
    She licked her lips. Against her will, her gaze drifted down to his mouth. She remembered the light touch of his hands upon her face, the warmth of his breath, the taste of his kiss. What scared her was that a part of her longed to feel it again.
    And if Kimbery hadn’t burst in upon them at that moment, she didn’t know what might have happened.
    “Mama! Mama!” Kimbery cried, jumping up and down, waving her wooden sword. “Spar with me! Spar with me!”
    Avril cleared her throat. Of course. Sparring had always helped her when she felt emotionally out of sorts. She could take up her sword and slash away at anger, fear, and, in this case, desire, and defeat them soundly before they could get the best of her.
    “You promised,” Kimbery reminded her.
    “I did promise. Just let me get…dressed.” A blush stole up her cheek as she realized she’d rushed out in her nightclothes. No wonder the Northman was looking at her like that.
    She avoided his gaze as she swept past, but she couldn’t avoid hearing the conversation between the Viking and her daughter while she dressed in the next room.
    “Do you have a sword?” Kimbery asked.
    “I did.”
    “What happened to it?”
    “I lost it in the sea.”
    “Maybe Mama can get you a new one.”
    “Kimbery,” Avril warned, “are you talking to that man?”
    “Nay,” she lied. “I’m talking to Maeve.”
    Avril heard only whispers after that until she emerged.
    “Watch me, Da!” Kimbery cried, leaping about with her wooden sword, battling an unseen enemy.
    But the Northman’s eyes were fixed upon Avril as if nothing else existed.
    Brandr’s breath caught in his chest. He’d heard legends about female Pict warriors, but he’d never seen a woman dressed, or rather un dressed, in such a manner. She’d foregone her