A Heart of Fire (7 page)

When
she finished, silken waves cascaded down around her shoulders and Finna forced
herself from her seat and moved toward her bed. Too weary to remove her boots
and clothing, she collapsed onto the lumpy mattress. Crossly, she thought of
her sword. She always placed it nearby at night, and the lack of protection
irked her even more. The smith would have to stoke his forge on the morrow, for
there were many possessions she could live without, but to have no blade…

Damn
that whoreson for kicking her over the bluff! Finna's fist slammed into her
bed, carrying with it all her frustration and humiliation. Thank the gods for
the fjord below. Had the water not broken her fall, she would be dead. But that
was not what he had wanted, was it? That Viking had merely toyed with her. He'd
wanted her to carry his message to Aldar, and that was all that had saved her
life.

If
she ever were to lay eyes on his despicable face again, she would kill him.
Finna tossed to her side on the bed, groaning at the soreness of her body. She
fitfully tried to find comfort. She hugged her smarting wrist to her chest, and
though doing so was entirely against her nature, she whimpered at the pain
shooting through her arm.

"Damn
you, Viking," she muttered into the empty silence of her small, lonely
home.

Finna
reached to her boot, pulled her dagger from its sheath, and placed the blade in
its usual spot on the carved wooden table by the bed. At least she had her
dagger.

She
grabbed the top of the furs on the bed and dragged them haphazardly across her
body, sinking into the warmth and exhaustion.

It
was not her fault that, as she slipped into slumber, her mind danced with
visions of the man she had battled, nor that she dreamt of him either. After
all, she was a woman.

And
he was the one man who had bested her—ever.

Chapter Five

Valdrik
slunk along a line of shadows resting on the outreaches of his enemy's village.
He and his men—Stieg, Ragnarr, and Útryggr—had been in the wooded area a while
now, each of them keeping watch since they had arrived hours before.

Útryggr
told him of a woman matching the description of Finna, whom he had spotted. Now
that Valdrik had seen the woman for himself, as she entered her dwelling alone
some time ago, anticipation flooded his veins. There was no mistaking the
woman's likeness to her mother now that he looked upon her in a new light, not
in bloodlust filled battle.

He
could not be sure, but he would stake his bet that no one else was within her
dwelling with her. Since spotting her, he had given her time to relax, mayhap
to find her bed. There had been no movement within for some time now.

As
Valdrik moved toward the dwelling, he left his men behind as lookouts, in case
he were spotted or an alert sounded. All knew the risk they took for their
Jarl. All accepted this mission with honor. Not that he risked his life for the
woman, no, all this was for gaining Geera's hand and becoming Jarl one day. For
the position and men to forever thwart Aldar and any man who had had a hand in
slaughtering his family and village.

Valdrik
would never stop.

Not
until he drew his dying breath or every son of every Viking who had stepped
foot onto his lands had been staked out for the scavengers to feast upon.

Valdrik
drew a hissed breath through his teeth, forcing away the desire to slay Aldar
this night. The temptation clawed at him, knowing the man was so close. The
light from his longhouse glowed in the inky night, luring Valdrik closer.

Thinking
of his family, he wondered if he could slip into Aldar's hall and kill the man
in his sleep. Alas, nay, that was not what he wanted. He wanted Aldar to know
why he took his life come the day their swords clashed, the day he drew the
man's blood. He wanted Aldar to suffer the way his family had suffered.

Valdrik
tore his stare away from that dim glow in the distance and back to Finna's
dwelling. It was a small place, which suggested even more so that she lived
alone. For a woman of her kind, a merciless shieldmaiden, he doubted she had a
husband. It irked him to bring one of Aldar's people back with him, even if she
was
Hadarr's true heir.

He
could not fault her for having killed men he had known and fought beside.
Battle was battle; they all knew their fates when taking up the blade. If one
fought by the sword, one died by the sword. It was simple.

They
all had shed blood.

Others,
though, as Hadarr feared, would not be so ready to forgive or accept if they
knew. Neither could he trust that Finna would be so willing to believe she was
Hadarr's daughter and might try to do them harm whilst she was with them. His
guard was necessary.

Valdrik
scanned the area ahead with a hard eye. The night remained still, and no sound
met his ears. This was the closest he had ever been to Aldar's village. Others
had attempted raiding here, but since he had come to be with Hadarr, they had
not the men to make such an attempt. The temptation to do more tingled in his
veins, forcing Valdrik to steady his resolve yet again. If he did aught else,
he would risk returning with the girl in hand.

His
eyes flickered over the layout of the village. The imbeciles had not so much as
posted a guard, not that he could see. Their structures were nothing compared
to those of Hadarr's and neither did they have a wall. Aldar was so open to
attack. It pleased Valdrik, if nothing more, to have this knowledge for later
use.

Valdrik's
stare stuck on the small dwelling with its thatched roof. This task would not
be easy. He was not even sure how he would get the woman back to his horse,
and, too, he did not expect she would go so willingly along the journey back
home. She would hinder them on purpose.

If
her people were alerted before he and his men made their way from this place,
they would most surely be caught up to and overwhelmed before they returned to
Hadarr's lands.

It
was now or never.

Valdrik
erupted from the shadows and through pale moonlight, sprinting to the side of
the woman's dwelling where he paused and flattened himself against the side of
her home. No alarm sounded, no hurried steps approached. He peered around the
corner and waited a moment more. No movement came from the path, and he slipped
to the door, drawing a dagger from his belt and stuck the blade between the
door and frame, silently flipping the latch inside.

Valdrik
peeped into the dwelling where light spilled through the crack. He spotted her
on the bed, asleep. Quickly, quietly, he entered and shut the door behind him.
As he crossed the room, he had to admit he was wholly unprepared for the vision
before him.

Silken
pale hair as light as the moon itself surrounded a young and beautiful face
with high cheekbones and a pert chin. Full lips parted on gentle breaths as her
breasts rose and fell just above the furs she had slung over her body.

She
was thin. Perhaps she would not be so hard to carry from here to the forest
where his horse waited. Valdrik swallowed hard, his stare lingering on the
visible path between her breasts where her vest had pulled out of place in her
slumber. He would not have thought to find her attributes desirable, but he
did.

Valdrik
replaced his dagger in his belt and then picked up the jewel-handled blade from
above her head and slipped her dagger into his belt, too. He was thankful she
had no other blade at hand. Her sword now rested at the bottom of the fjord,
and he was sure she had
not
forgotten
who put it there.

The
woman did not stir as he bent over her, and Valdrik pulled a cloth for her
mouth from his belt, ready to shove it between her teeth to keep her from
screaming.

As
he looked down on her, he realized how much she looked like her sister as
well—only taller, stronger. In that way, she was very much like Surguilde. His
eyes traveled the length of her slender body, and he remembered her in the
camp, the way she had fought him so viciously and without fear.

It
would not be so easy for her now.

Valdrik
clamped his hand over her mouth then, coming down to straddle her on the bed,
his legs trapping her arms to her body under the furs.

Instantaneously,
the vixen flew up against him, bucking under his weight, thrashing and trying
in vain to free her arms. She cried out against his hand, biting him as she
struggled.

Valdrik
could not help but chuckle at her attempts, the small nip on the bottom of his
hand less than intimidating. Actually, were they in other circumstances, he
might have found the sensation arousing.

He
used all his strength, pinning her solidly between him and the bed. "Be
still," he hissed, as he feared she might harm herself. Quickly, before
she bit him again, he shoved the gag into her mouth and pulled her head to his
chest as he tied the cloth against her screams, the knot winding in her hair as
she struggled to get free.

Valdrik
released her, wincing as he noticed her lip beginning to bleed anew, as the
cloth tore at the cut there. He
almost
felt sorry for her. He did not remember the tear in her lip being present when
he had had his scuffle with her on the bluff. It was possible her fall had
caused the cut, he supposed.

By
the gods, never had he seen such fiery eyes or such open hostility from a woman.

Especially
not from one beneath him in bed.

That
thought made him laugh at her, only stoking that fire boring holes into him
from the clearest blue eyes.

He
lifted himself just enough to pull her arms free, catching her limbs and
pinning them together with one hand before she could claw him. Valdrik pulled a
short rope from his belt and began to bind her wrists, noting the swelling of
the left one and the bluish bruise circling just above her hand.

He
had hurt her in their brief combat. He had meant to. It would do her good to
know his strength. He had a feeling not many men had taught her such a lesson.

When
he had bound her good and tight, Valdrik relieved her of his weight and came to
sit on the side of the bed. He leaned over her, though she struggled to pull
away, and he took her arms and pressed her into the mattress. She regarded him
wildly, her chest heaving against her leather vest, her breaths quick and
heavy. He imagined she would sound the same if he took her, fucked her until
she knew her place.

At
the thought of having her, Valdrik rolled his tongue over his lips. "Do
you remember me?" he asked. His stare raked hotly over her, up to her
flashing eyes. He held her gaze as powerfully as the knotted muscles in his
arms, taut with the strength he exerted to hold her there.

She
shook her head.

"Aye,
I'm sure you would not forget so quickly."

His
stare traveled down the valley of her breasts, barely visible under her vest
still. Strangely, he found himself curious of those breasts and perhaps more
curious of the woman herself, more so than he had imagined he would be. Too bad
she would be most unwilling, and he would never take an unwilling woman.

"This
has gone easier for me than I had thought it would," Valdrik said.
"Do you give me no trouble before we are away from here, then I shall
treat you fairly and not hurt you any more than you force me to."

Something
flashed in her eyes then, and Valdrik caught her leg just before her knee came
crashing into his ear, his effort to no avail though. Surprised, he growled
with pain as the force of the blow rattled him.

Finna
rolled to the other side of the bed, but he shot off the mattress and came
around to catch her in his arms. She made a cry of panic against the cloth as
they both went tumbling backwards with her on top, her back to his chest and
his arms wrapped around her chest like steel. Valdrik fought to keep her still
as she kicked her legs into the air, screaming as loudly as she could against
the gag and thrashing her head against his jaw.

They
tumbled back and forth on the small bed until Valdrik heard a crack underneath.
He felt, rather than heard, her sharp intake, and Finna stilled atop him. Less
than a breath later they were falling, and the bed plummeted to the floor under
them with a crash. Valdrik winced as the wooden side bit into his back.

"You
do not understand, and I have not the time to tell you now, vixen." His
hissed words strained with his struggle against her. He grunted, holding her to
him tightly, the length of her body entirely flush against his. "You shall
be returned to your father, and you must cooperate." Valdrik sat them up
then, only to have the back of her head smash into his nose and he fell back
onto the mattress.

"Gods!"
he bit out, straining his neck to keep her head from bashing him again. All
desire he might have felt for the woman fled him, and Valdrik gritted his teeth
to keep from making any useless noise.

The
woman screamed against the gag in her mouth as Valdrik pushed her off him to
her feet. He stood, too, instantly hefting her up and tossing her over his
shoulder a second later. Though she was of a good height, she was not
exceedingly heavy for a woman used to wielding a blade, at least not to him.