To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) (14 page)

She pushed up on tip-toe, her hands exploring his chest where his heart beat hard against her palm. Ticklish whiskers scraped the high curve of her breast, and she laughed with delight frothy as sea foam. Brandr’s warm mouth traveled higher, his breath hot on her flesh.

Her hands slid into his wet hair, discovering those soft curls at his nape. She sighed sweetly and cupped the back of his head, drawing him closer. Brandr nibbled the corner of her mouth and she shuddered all the way to her toes.

“Ohhh.”
Her knees buckled, but he caught her by the waist.

The surly Viking tasted her as if she were a sweet morsel. Safe in his arms, her head tipped back and her body yielded to his strength. Dark light flashed in his eyes. If Brandr was a beast of the forest, he’d drag her to his lair and never let her go. This must be a glimpse of the warrior who spent much time alone in wild lands.

“Please,” she whispered, rubbing her mons over his erection. “Kiss me on the mouth.”

His lips molded to hers for one long, deep kiss, soft yet hard like the man. Her heart soared. Legs tangling, her body rocked against his. If the beach was beneath her feet, she couldn’t feel sand anymore.

She was free.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her away. Brandr said a foreign word under his breath, a curse word by the way he nearly spat it and let her go. Her sluggish eyelids opened halfway. His hair, shiny and black, fell around his jaw.

Iron-colored eyes burned. “No. We can’t.”

“No, we can’t what? Kiss? Lay naked together in your sleeping fur?”

What was behind his need to deny fleshly pleasures?

As if he read the question in her eyes, his mouth flattened grimly. “Remember why we’re here.”

Eyes narrowing, she couldn’t shake his vague answer. A few stolen kisses couldn’t hurt. Yet…the damaged boat. The dead men from the clearing. The treasure and the people of Uppsala.

“You’re concerned about the other warrior,” she said, willing her heart to slow down. “The one you think will come back.”

“He
will
come back. Rats always do.” He lifted his tunic off the rock. “I won’t be caught with my trousers down. We need to get moving.”

“To Lord Hakan’s farm and give him the news.” But her lethargic limbs refused to cooperate.

Metal clanked as he strapped on
Jormungand
. “You’ll want to put your clothes on.”

Stomach rumbling, she shook out her tunic. Bright saffron and blue threads fluttered, the embroidery torn when Brandr saved her from the cliff. Every moment with him thrilled her, challenged her ordinary life of servitude. So many possibilities with him…  

This couldn’t be the end?

She smiled and raised her tunic over her head. “You make me feel safe,” she said quietly. “I forget there’s trouble on the other shore.”

Questions tumbled through her mind. What did the foreign words he whispered last night mean? Why kiss her passionately and push her away as if she was poison? He
was
right. They needed to get off the island. Niggling doubts hung over her head, but a new plume of black smoke rose in the distance. Her questions could wait until he was a captive listener on their boat.

The tunic dropped over her face, the russet wool veiling her eyes and sliding over her nose. When she tugged it all the way down, Brandr waited in front of her, a long knife balanced in one hand.

“I’ll need to cut off your hem.”

“My hem? Why?”  

“To repair the boat.” He eyed her skirt as if deciding how much to cut. “Wool strips soaked with resin seal the planks.”

Glossy saffron and blue embroidery shined on the dark wool. The threads, she suspected, were silk. No thrall wore silken threads, but it was hers to keep. With careful tending, the mud stains could be cleaned and the rips repaired with artful stitching.

“Couldn’t you cut my linen underskirt instead?” Her heels inched backward. “I’ve never had clothes this fine.”

He stopped surveilling her hem to look in her eyes. The corners of his mouth softened. “Wool holds resin better.”

Her shoulders sunk.
What else would the island demand she give?

She took stock in the healer’s forest across the water, a stiff breeze blowing curls loose from her sleep-mussed braid. Hadn’t she sacrificed enough? The treasure was lost. She was hungry, and more men like the one who held the knife to her throat were coming. Brandr was only thinking of their survival. It’s how he lived.

He flipped his blade around in his hand and went down on one knee. Without a word, he began to untie his boot’s leather cross garter.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

The leather garter dropped in the sand and Brandr, head bent to his task, pushed down his boot. “Preparing to cut my trouser leg off.”

“What? No! Stop.” She skidded on her knees and grabbed his hand with the knife poised to cut.

The depth in his grey eyes took her breath away. Wind teased Brandr’s ragged overlong curl at the side of his neck and she wanted to melt. Firm male lips curled in the kindest of smiles, erasing harsh lines that framed his mouth.

 “You would go with one leg clothed just to save my hem?”

She could barely swallow. No man had ever smiled at her like this…as if her whim was his command.

Brandr hooked a finger under her chin. “I would do much more to see you happy.”

It’s be easy to fall in love with him. To love his square, stubborn jaw and proud nose with its bump in the middle. He’d likely broken it once and reset it himself. Brandr, she discovered was as ruggedly beautiful on the outside as he was remote and beautiful inside. The woman who cracked open his private heart would find a treasure worth hoarding.

“No. You can’t,” she whispered, her mouth dry.

“Can’t what? See you have some happiness?”

His graveled voice caressed the deepest places inside. Tears threatened to come at the man she wanted but couldn’t have. She belonged to someone else, and Brandr couldn’t afford to buy her.

She pushed his knife aside and retied his boot. The small act lightened her. “I thank you for your concern, but my hem is a small price to pay.”

His brows pinched at the words
price to pay
.

 “You’re certain?”

She stood up, steeling herself for the first rip. “Cut away.”

Brandr’s knife jabbed a hole in the hem, and her body turned in a slow circle to the music of rending fabric. One rotation complete, and the bottom section of her tunic was gone. Walking to the pine tree, Brandr notched the wool with his knife and shred it into smaller strips. He stretched the cloth over the tree’s oozing lines and pressed. When he removed his hand, resin darkened the cloth.

Daylight poured over the tree’s scored lines. “With full sun here, we won’t have long to wait.” He glanced up at her. “Heat makes the tree bleed faster.”

She turned to the sun, its warmth blasting her face. Last night, he’d cut in the exact spot where morning light would shine the longest. He read the elements, sun and sky, moon and stars, water and land.

“You’ve done this many times, haven’t you?” she murmured, lost in the quiet.

Wind rippled tiny waves across the channel. Pine needles crunched behind her. Brandr stood close enough the heat of his body touched her.

“A few. You’re the brave one here, a giving woman.”

“I’m not so sure. We’re returning empty-handed.”

The ebb and flow of his steady breath was as intimate as last night’s sex. This newness was to be savored. True comfort with a man who made her body burn and her soul sing. How long would it last? Her gaze slid to the ripped wool bathed in sunlight. For as long as it took the tree to yield enough of its blood. Everything paid a price. The boat would get them off the island, but it would also take Brandr away.

 He stroked her braid as his lips moved over her ear. “If you could choose freedom today, would you take it?”

She whipped around. “Are you asking me to run away with you?”

Chapter Nine

“You claimed the treasure was lost,” she said, hiking her skirts above her knees. “Today you think you’ll find it?”

“There’s a chance,” Brandr called back. His long legs ate up the island path, leaving fern fronds swinging in his wake.

“But you were so sure.”

Water slapped the shoreline ahead. Brandr jogged to the break in the trees. When his booted feet hit the sand, he never lost his stride. Nor did he respond as he veered to the right across the beach. Near the mouth of the stream, he set his leather bag on a rock and pulled out balled cloth. Linen corners fell away, revealing dried apple rings and part of a barley loaf.

“Eat. Your stomach hasn’t stopped rumbling.” He broke off a piece of bread. “I’m sure it’s why you’re asking foolish questions.”

“You mean about running away with you?” Holding hair off her face, she took three dried apple pieces. “Or the wisdom of coming back here?”

“Both,” he said wryly before he took a bite.

“I’m trying to understand. Last night, you were so convinced the treasure was gone.” She nibbled on the dried fruit, its sour-sweetness exploding on her tongue. A quick swallow and she finished, “And why wouldn’t I think you meant running away? You’ve talked about my freedom more in one day than I have in all my life.”

“Running away is foolish.”

His teeth ripped off another bite of bread. Wind blew black hair across his jaw as he chewed. The elements were stronger on this side of the island, the wind harsher, the sun sharper, the water rougher. Brandr slipped warm fingers along the side of her neck. He stroked the ridged scar hidden in her hairline, his black brows arching.

The mark of her slave collar when she ran away years ago.

“But you’d protect me.”

“For how long? Once Uppsala’s turmoil ends, Sven Henrikkson would hunt you down. Is that how you want to live? Always looking over your shoulder?”

“It was a thought,” she said weakly.

“Not a smart one.” His thumb teased her ear lobe, softening the insult. “Better to gain your freedom.”

A spangle of pleasure trailed down her neck from the tiny bit of flesh he stroked. Brandr might prefer to rut like a hardened beast, but his tender touches were sweet bread crumbs, leading a woman to abandon herself in his lair. His kisses devastated her the way his mouth hovered over her lips as if her breath alone sustained him.

“And if I buy my freedom, I go with you?” she whispered.

“You can’t.” He turned abruptly and stalked off to the stream’s edge.

Brandr stood wide-legged, his broad back as forbidding as the scowl etched on his profile. He ate his bread in silence, the water dribbling over the toes of his boots. Food lost its flavor as she chewed. This was his way…an insult, a rare show of heart-aching tenderness, and this. Silence. Or she suspected disappearing altogether such as he did at Lithsablot.

She’d have better luck finding the silver coins today than wrenching words from the Viking scout.

Beyond the shore, a seagull dove at the open water. Wings flapping fast, the bird’s claws dipped below the surface. A battle of perseverance went on between the bird and an unseen creature, and the seagull swooped down on the other side of the shallow stream facing Brandr, a squirming fish its reward. The gull’s yellow beak tore into fish flesh, its small eyes on Brandr. The bird dared to squawk at him until other seagulls invaded the feast.

The Viking lobbed his crust and the winged interlopers dashed for the morsel. “Enjoy your prize while you can,” he said to the bird devouring the fish.

Brandr ranged across the sand, his head bent in deep thought. This sudden remoteness was a cold blanket. It was a mistake to boldly ask pointed question to a private man. She’d pushed him more than drew him out. Deeper questions about his purpose in coming here would simmer unanswered.

He took three mint leaves from a small leather pouch, and stuffed them in his mouth. Without a word, he offered two leaves to her on his outstretched hand.

She accepted the gift and put them to her nose, inhaling the freshness. “How are we going to do this?”

“We wade upstream. See if we can recover anything from the water.” Brandr put his things back in the modest leather bag. “We need to get a palm’s for you and another palm for those who’ve suffered.”

Her gaze shot to the water. He said
we.
Nor did he speak of getting a palm for himself. “Yesterday you couldn’t wait to get out of there. The treasure didn’t seem worthwhile to you.”

“Because it was dark and your safety was more important,” he said knotting the leather ties.

She broke off a piece of dried apple, nodding sagely. “Ah, your vow to Lord Hakan.”

The food could be leather in her mouth. Niggling doubts about his explanation ate at her, but like all lies, what he said held a ring of truth. She couldn’t dispute him.

Brandr worked around her, stiff-shouldered, not looking her in the eye. Wind stirred soft black curls on his nape. After last night, she could claim knowledge of another soft part of him—his lips. How was it the same mouth that taunted without mercy could cover her with the finest kisses?

Facing the upstream, he spoke over his shoulder, “I didn’t think the smaller hoard was worth it.”

“But today it is.”

He turned around, his silver eyes pinning her. “Today it is.”

“You’re doing this for me.”

“I want you to have your freedom.”

No finer words had a man ever said. Gorm, the coming berserkers, even the good people of Uppsala she hoped to help, all paled. Her life, her wants, mattered to Brandr. His warrior’s sense would have them stay by the boat, but he risked all for one more attempt to get the treasure—the much diminished treasure and
her
best chance at freedom.

But why his sudden coldness? That among other questions sprang to mind.

“You didn’t buy me, did you?” she asked quietly

“No. I don’t know who did, but this gives you the chance to claim your future.” One hand fisted at his side. “No running away.”

Her shoulders rounded forward. Well, that settled that. He’d already slammed the door on a possible future. By the aching touches he gave, she had an inkling he harbored some feelings for her, but not enough to reach beyond the island. Yet, he cared plenty to try again for the treasure. It meant both of them going into the water if Brandr had his way. After yesterday’s attack, he wouldn’t leave her on the open beach while he hunted for the remains of the treasure.