Chapter Four #3
“Masculine posturing, nothing more. Aaron is a leech who takes advantage of Tyr’s generosity.
Instead of pledging fealty, Aaron meddles in all things sacred and political even though Norway isn’t his homeland.
He prefers to sow seeds of discontent over hard work.
If ever a man deserved to have his black heart ripped out …
” Onetooth swallowed his last words. “Disregard everything Tyr said about nailing his useless hide to the church doors.”
“Aren’t most legends based on truth?”
The oarsman regarded her, then answered. “You’re a witty one. I admit there’s truth in it. A century ago, enemies of the church were indeed punished that way.”
She jerked upright. Her tutors had conveniently forgotten to share this piece of history with her. Then another man came forward.
“Stegir?”
Cringing, Rachelle groaned at Tyr’s reaction.
His shoulders slumped. “Dead, goddamn it. Dead.” Appearing defeated, he said, “I’m finished speaking.” He stormed away.
She sighed and turned to Onetooth. “I pray he has more brothers.”
“Two,” the henchman answered.
She smiled ruefully. “Why doesn’t Tyr live with his family in Scotland?”
“Ah,” Onetooth sighed. “He chose this life over a Christian one. Although his mother and siblings prefer the new religion, he followed in his sire’s footsteps.
Praise the gods. He traded his inheritance in Scotland, Ireland, and the Orkneys for his lands in Norway.
Without him, Odin’s legacy would have disappeared.
And now, he’s one of the only chieftains powerful enough to afford the high taxes Hardrada imposed on all the pagan families to avoid severe criminal penalties. ”
She looked up at Tyr’s menacing form. He’d moved away from the crowd and was staring overboard. Beyond her own fatigue and heartache, the jarl’s pain squeezed her heart, too.
Minutes later, she didn’t hear Tyr approach. Onetooth coughed, looking uncomfortable.
“I’ll provide the history lessons, old friend,” Tyr said.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips. A warning. Onetooth lowered his head, then left them standing alone.
“Don’t blame Onetooth for anything. I’m to blame, always sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Willing to shoulder the responsibility for an old man’s wagging tongue?” Tyr rubbed his chin. “Most women deny responsibility altogether. You’re an intriguing creature, Rachelle Fiennes. Protecting a Norseman when you were raised to hate us.”
She most absolutely should—independent of what she’d been taught. A week ago, she had fallen asleep safe and secure in her own bed. The next day, the king’s recruiters came to her village. Hatred required too much. And as she stood there staring at Tyr, she couldn’t imagine ever hating him.
“Come with me.” He offered his hand.
They walked to the stern. The sailcloth had been hung for shelter. Peeking inside, Rachelle eyed a pallet, table, and stool appreciatively. A small brazier warmed the space. She stepped inside and sat down.
“I’m sorry I didn’t provide these accommodations sooner,” he said.
“I understand. You’ve much on your mind.”
“Aye …”
Distracted by how attractively his mouth moved when he spoke and how his thin shirt hugged his muscles, his words fell on deaf ears. With shoulders and arms as hard as granite, she wondered if any man had the right to be so tantalizing.
“Did you hear me?”
Startled from her thoughts, she repositioned herself on the stool. “I’m sorry.”
The apology didn’t mollify him. “Come here.”
She’d seen that look before. Shaking her head, she scanned the tiny enclosure.
Ignoring her refusal, he stomped closer and hooked his arms around her waist. Tyr lifted her to her feet. “I want you.”
Was everything so easy for him? Affection was given, not taken. Crushing her lips with his, his big warm hands moved up her back. Strong fingers kneaded the tension from her shoulder blades. What would he think if she tried to molest him?
“So blasted sweet.”
Blooming heat suffused her body. Pressure built inside her breast. This scoundrel’s intentions were clear, evidenced by his intrusive hands wandering down the front of her dress.
Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight. All that distress and pain …
She landed a limp-wristed slap on his chest. Feeble resistance seemed better than none.
He rolled back on his heels. “I told you I’d never hurt you.”
“I know.” Reason rang sharply in her ears. She didn’t want to lose her virginity. “I’m not ready.”
He waved his hands. “Maidens rarely are.”
His indifference upset her. Didn’t he have the sense to see she suffered, too?
“I don’t appreciate your attitude. You tricked me into accompanying you, insulted me in front of your men, threatened to tie me to a bench, and now expect me to act the wanton.
My maidenhood is intended for the man I love. ”
“There are better uses for your mouth.”
Shaking her head in disgust, she thought him the biggest lout she’d ever met.
Often, men acted as creatures without conscience—driven by something she didn’t fully comprehend.
Lust and passion were only part of it. They hungered for control.
Complete dominance. Even the matrons in her uncle’s small household endured this harassment.
Not me. She wished to be left alone. “Don’t you have something important to do?”
He studied her face. “Be quiet my beautiful little fool, before I silence you.”
Tyr tilted her stubborn chin. He brushed another kiss across her lips. “Do you realize what a nuisance you are?”
“Maybe you should have left me on the beach.” Her muscles felt weak, and her mind a bit hazy from no sleep. That padding on the floor looked more inviting than the softest feather mattress. Rest would restore her strength. Give her the sharpness of mind she needed to match this giant’s wit.
“And what would leaving you behind have accomplished? I have plans. Trust me.” He pinched her cheek, then left her standing alone.