Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (7 page)

An accompanying thought startled Ailinn, and she turned into the furs and closed her eyes against the vivid image it formed. Warm currents rushed through her. Still, the vision lingered, bringing heat to her cheeks.

If the man sought to acquire her, then surely he intended that she lay beneath more than his roof.

»«

Lyting drew deeper into the shadows as voices erupted nearby, two noisy revelers fracturing the late-night silence with their song.

Swathed in a great, gray cloak, Lyting tugged the hood downward. Even on a moonless night his bright mane marked him. Tonight the moon hung like a fat crescent in the sky, and he held no wish to be discovered.

He remained in the darkness of the narrow side lane as the merrymakers passed into view — two Danish seamen with a maid between them. Angry shouts discharged from a neighboring
hús
, and someone hurled a bucket from the door of another.

Lyting stepped to the edge of the passage as the trio continued on, then returned his interest across the wooded lane to the
hús
of Thora Kolsdóttir.

It had been a fairly simple matter to locate the
hús
. He had arrived in time to observe Hakon enter the dwelling and to overhear the voices raised within. Presumably, ‘twas Skallagrim and Thora who matched volume for volume, though he could discern little of their argument.

He had waited, palm resting on sword hilt, unsure why he had come or what action he might take if
a need arose. Soon the
hús
quieted. Still, he waited.

Once, the door opened and a dour-looking woman stepped forth to pitch a bucketful of water into the yard.
‘Twas then that he glimpsed the maid’s slender figure as she moved near the portal — garbed in green now, her rich auburn hair spilling past her hips. Heat flashed through him, jolting him by its intensity and taking him by surprise.

Lyting girt himself, even now, against the directness of that response, so immediate, instinctive, elemental
— all spurred by the mere sight of the Irish beauty.

Mayhap
he should have sought to free another, a small voice pricked from a remote corner of his mind. This one lay beyond his grasp. Yet, had he emptied his coffers and found sufficient coin to deliver every captive borne from Ireland, he knew deep in his soul that he still would be here tonight.

In time Hakon emerged from the
hús
and departed in the direction of the docks. Lyting eased his vigil, resolving to stay atime longer, until he must leave to take up his watch of the
Sea Falcon
. There, at the harbor, he would have a clear view of the
Wind Raven
as well.

Sleep he could not seek before dawn
’s breaking. But he held certain that when he finally gained his rest, his dreams — like the thoughts that had weighed on him these many long hours — would be inescapably entangled with masses of auburn hair.

Ailinn trailed Thora along the street, clutching a bundle of soiled linens to her hip. Ankle cuffs and chains hampered her steps.

Thora scowled back at Ailinn’s lagging pace with mounting impatience. Grasping a handful of hair at the side of Ailinn’s head, she forced her on at a quickened pace.

Ailinn boiled as Thora released her a short distance later, her scalp yet screaming its protest. She blinked away the moisture that had sprung to her eyes. The Norsewoman wielded her authority with obvious enjoyment. But Ailinn refused to add one crumb to her pleasure. Whatever Thora wrought upon her, she vowed she would not cry out, nor plead, nor allow one tear to fall. Masking all emotion from her face, she fixed her gaze past Thora
’s broad back and struggled on beneath her burdens.

Increasingly Ailinn grew aware of the marked interest her passage stirred. Men turned from their tasks to appraise her from beneath arched brows and partially lowered lids, their gazes bold, assessing, edged with a certain hunger. By contrast, the women glared, sharp-eyed and tight-lipped.

Ill caring for the attention she drew, Ailinn shifted her gaze to the weathered boards beneath her feet and proceeded along the course in Thora’s shadow.

In short time they reached the harbor. Thora led Ailinn along the wharf to
its farmost end. Here, the planking ceased and the shore stretched a fair distance to the palisaded seawall.

Numerous tents occupied a large, open tract of land that lay between the
edge of water and the border of town. Ships, likewise, populated the expanse, having been grounded ashore. The largest vessels remained moored at pilings mid-harbor or tied at the piers. Ailinn sighted Skallagrim’s dragonship, its monster head grinning. Her stomach twisted into a hard, icy knot.

Gruffly Thora directed that she kneel with her bundle upon a little projection that jutted off the quay. Handing Ailinn a paddle board and small, wooden tub filled with soap, Thora motioned that she commence with the washing. Thora then stepped several paces a
way to join a clutch of townswomen gathered there. Proudly she lifted aside the bright panel of cloth that covered the front of her chemise and displayed Murieann’s girdle.

Ailinn simmered as she thrust a tunic into the water and swished it about. She derived a small measure of perverse satisfaction seeing that the cord barely met about Thora
’s thick waist. It had hung at length on Murieann’s slender form.

Ailinn turned back to her task,
chiding herself for such an unchristian and mean-spirited thought. Yet, ‘twas not the thought itself that disturbed her so much as her pleasuring in it. In truth, she felt no charity toward the Norsewoman, nor any of her kind. Only a rocky barrenness of heart.

Overhead, gulls cried out against the clear-blue vault of sky as they stretched their wings to the warmth of the sun. Along the wharf seamen mended nets and loaded waiting craft while merchants
bartered their goods.

Ailinn scrubbed a stubborn spot, then doused the linen once more and sat back on her heels. Brushing away a wisp of hair from her eyes, she squinted against the brightness of the day and envied the birds their freedom.

Joyous squeals of children erupted nearby, drawing Ailinn’s eye. She caught a vivid patch of color as it swept up into the air — a small boy in naught but a red tunic, being hoisted high above a man’s head. The sprite’s waggling legs and squirming bulk obstructed her view of the man. The child laughed gleefully and tossed back his dark headful of curls as his captor apparently nuzzled his stomach.

The man began to lower the child and Ailinn next found herself gazing fully upon the white-haired Dane. In a heartbeat
his crystal blue eyes met with hers, but not before she realized that he stood in the shallows before her stripped bare to his loincloth.

Ailinn gasped, letting go the linen from her fingers. Quickly she tore away her gaze and snatched the garment back up from the water. She felt shivery and breathless and jolted to her very core.

Ailinn scrubbed at the tunic vigorously, heat flaming her cheeks. The vision of sculpted muscles, broad shoulders, and hard, sinewed legs continued to burn in her mind’s eye.

Several minutes passed before she found the courage to look toward him again. To her relief, he was absorbed in play with the child
— children — she corrected as she discovered a second little boy, clad in blue, identical to the first.

The Dane caught the babe up beneath the arms. Stepping deeper into the water, he swung the child round in a wide circle, lifting and dipping the boy in one continuous, wavelike motion.

Ailinn watched, momentarily transfixed by the warm, familial scene playing out before her. It stunned her to see this caring side of a Norseman. At the same time she found herself wholly affected by the sheer magnificence of the man.

He moved with power and grace
— beautiful, potent, thrilling to behold. The word
leonine
again sprang to mind, as it had yesterday, when her eyes first encountered him. The long lines of his body appeared supple, resilient, yet well defined. Their underlying strength had been forged, she imagined, through years of discipline and rigorous training.

Ailinn gazed on the rich play of muscle through his chest and arms, then drifted her eyes to his handsome features. She noted the ease of his smile and the unmistakable affection contained in his eyes as he looked on the babe and lifted him heavenward.

Ailinn returned her attention to the garment in her hands and began to beat it with the small paddle.
His?
she wondered of the children, noting they bore him little resemblance, what with their ebony locks and what appeared to be thumb-size impressions in their little chins. He had none, though she thought to have glimpsed dimples in his cheeks.

She
whisked a glance to the Dane and back again. Aye, dimples. Creases, really. Deep ones. In each cheek.

Ailinn reversed the cloth and pounded it soundly.

And his eyes . . . she summoned them to mind. His eyes were as blue as the lakes of Killarney, though lighter — brilliant and clear. The children’s were indiscernible at this distance, obviously not the same sparkling shade.

Ailinn rubbed soap into a stain, then stayed her busy hands, startled that a
nything about the Dane should be of concern to her. She turned the cloth over and took up the paddle again.

Of course the man
would have children, she reasoned with herself. Likely he had sired more than these two.

Ailinn stole a sideways glance o
f his splendid frame. Many more. Indeed, what woman would turn him from her bed?

She plunged the garment into the water and sloshed it around. Withdrawing it, she wrung it hard, then slapped it down on the growing pile of sodden cloths.

As Ailinn reached for another linen, she felt the heat of his eyes upon her. Imagination, she chided herself and dismissed the unsettling feeling. Still, the sensation remained.

Slowly she lifted her gaze and immediately lost herself in a crystal blue sea. Ailinn took a long, difficult swallow, her mouth and throat suddenly gone dry. Several moments passed, an eternity, before she could pull away from his intense regard.

She lowered her eyes — a mistake — for they came to rest upon his flat, tapering waist. Then the narrow strip of cloth fastened low about his hips. Then his long, hard, marvelously sculpted legs.

Ailinn
’s heart began to thud high in her chest and sound in her ears.

The vibrations of the wharf-planking alerted her to Thora
’s approach. A moment later the Norsewoman barked out some displeasure and gave a jarring shove to her back. Ailinn nearly pitched from the landing, inadvertently toppling a small mound of Thora’s chemises into the water.

Pain seared her scalp as Thora dragged her upright by the hair. Ailinn saw the Dane start forward, thunder in his face. But at the same time she glimpsed Thora
’s hand in her edge of vision, drawing back to strike.

“
Skallagrim!”
Ailinn hurled the name as though it were a weapon.

Thora stayed her hand midair and growled beneath her
breath. Releasing Ailinn, she stepped back, lips thinned and nostrils flared. She then jabbed a finger toward the fallen clothes, carping in shrill tones until Ailinn retrieved them from the water.

Satisfied, Thora straightened, smoothed the panels of cloth that overlay
the front and back of her gown, then, after casting a glance to the white-haired Dane, returned to her friends.

»«

Anger exploded through Lyting. He started forward as the bearish-looking woman descended upon the maid. Thora Kolsdóttir. He recognized her from yestereve and gained an instant dislike for the woman. In the next moment he halted as the maid called out something and Thora’s arm went rigid. The woman looked ready to chew iron rivets, but she released her hold on the girl.

Lyting rubbed his
hand along his jaw. What could the maid have spoken? He watched her pluck the fallen garments from the river. A smile touched his lips and then died as he discovered Thora’s eyes upon him. Incredibly, she tried to draw his interest as she strutted toward the cluster of women, giving a slight pitch to her great hips. In truth, the movement produced more joggle than sway. Meanwhile, her companions whispered and tittered among themselves as their eyes strayed over him.

Lyting felt nauseated. Then his anger boiled afresh. How long had these women been observing him? Had they seen how his gaze fairly consumed the maid? How their eyes
had met and wed for that one brief moment? Jealous shrews. Was that the cause of this scene? Did they punish the maid on his account?

His choler rose another degree
as the women continued to devour him with covetous eyes. If ‘twas a closer look they desired, then they would have it, along with a blistering piece of his mind.

He began to take a forward step, but the children chose that very moment to wrap themselves about his legs.

“Look, Uncle. Ketil.” Richard waved toward the wharf.

“
Ketil,” chimed Kylan.

Lyting
reined his impulses, remembering the lads. He hauled his eyes from the women and sliced a glance along the pier. There, he spied Ketil examining a length of line. Nearby stood Skallagrim — watching, solemn-faced.

Lyting stilled as he and the chieftain regarded each other across the distance. Skallagrim raised his bearded chin, then shifted his gaze to the maid and then to his sister, Thora.

“Up, Uncle.” Kylan pulled at Lyting’s thigh and hip in an attempt to scramble upward. Richard likewise began to scale his uncle’s other leg.

Stifling the fire that yet burned within, Lyting looked down on the round little heads and allowed
his smile to return. He tousled their ebony locks, then lifted them, one to each hip.

Again, the boys called out and waved at Ketil
until they captured his attention. Ketil’s teeth gleamed through his blaze of beard, and he lifted his hand in acknowledgment.

Lyting nodded a greeting to Ketil as well, his arms occupied with the two lively pups. Still distracted, he deflected his gaze back toward the maiden.

‘Twould seem that Skallagrim watched over his prize captive as closely as he, himself, did. Likely, the chieftain was not the sort of man who would welcome interference with that which he held as his own — slave or sister.

Lyting stabbed a look at the women, yet debating whether
or not to confront them with his displeasure. A muscle flexed along his jaw. Teeth clamped tight, he vented a breath. For the moment he would resist the temptation — as long as they left the maid undisturbed.

He glanced once more to
the auburn-haired beauty, resolving to remain here for the time, near at hand, and enjoy sporting with young Richard and Kylan.

As his humor flowed slowly back, Lyting sank down into the coolness of the water, drawing the boys with him. Their gasps quickly dissolved to laughter as he squiggled his fingers over their soft bellies and flashed them an openhearted smile.

»«

Ketil watched with gladsome approval at the cheery little scene.
‘Twas good to see Lyting relaxing with the mites. He loved children and should have a hall filled with his own. But with his mind set on shutting himself within the sterile walls of Corbie, Rurik and Brienne’s children would be the only ones Lyting would ever enjoy.

A shame, Ketil
sighed as he examined the line of seal-hide for imperfections and tested its strength. The Good Lord saved Lyting from the brink of death, well and true. But that did not necessarily mean that He spared him apurpose for Corbie. Lyting thought in that vein, however, and it seemed naught could dissuade him.

Ketil chuckled at Richard
’s antics and waved again. He caught the twinkle in Lyting’s eye as he scooped up the boy and dangled him upside down.

“
You sailed with that man?” a roughened voice sounded off to his left.

Ketil turned and took measure of the weathered sea-warrior who stood several arm
’s lengths away. He possessed as brambly a mane of hair and beard as himself and stood nearly as tall.