A Viking For The Viscountess Page 7

  The old woman’s warning, that he had less than a month to help Juliana, was a strong reminder that it was not wise to form ties with this world. Or with this woman. And yet, he wanted to take away her sadness in a way that both of them would enjoy.

  He lay back upon the mattress, sinking into a softness he’d never experienced before. “I like this bed.”

  “We’re not staying here,” she warned.

  He stretched out his arms, folding them under his head. “I could sleep very well on a bed such as this.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t. Not on his bed.”

  There it was. That frowning look, as if she was thinking of what she’d lost instead of enjoying the moment. He grew weary of her protests and stood. The moment he lifted her off the ground, she began to protest, until he flung her upon the bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You should try this.” He pulled her to lie beside him. “A man could enjoy a…a bed like this one, with a woman at his side. It is like nothing I have known before.”

  Her cheeks had gone pink, and when she lay beside him, he traced a finger over her face. When he moved his hand to her throat, he felt the wild pulse beneath his fingers. “Imagine yourself beneath this coverlet, wearing nothing at all.”

  She started to sit up, but he caught her hand. “Would you not rather make another memory upon this bed?”

  Juliana went motionless, and she would not look at him. “That isn’t the sort of woman I am.”

  He pressed her back, brushing his mouth against her cheek. With his fingers splayed above her breast, he murmured against her throat, “You enjoyed that night. You wanted me.”

  “I don’t deny it. But I thought you were a dream. I never imagined—” Her words broke off when he reached to the back of her gown, where several round, hard objects clasped the fabric together. He pulled at the edges, trying to free her from the garment.

  She took one of the pillows and whacked him with it. “Keep your hands to yourself, Thorgrim.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. She’d actually struck him? A white feather descended from the pillow, and he grinned, contemplating his next move. He picked up another pillow and held it like a shield.

  A strange smile crossed her face. “Don’t you dare.” In warning, she picked up her own pillow.

  But the moment he lowered his guard, Juliana struck him hard across the cheek, releasing a flurry of white feathers. Then she sent him a sly smile, revealing her own sense of mischief.

  It was the last thing he’d expected. It seemed that Juliana of Arthur had more daring than he’d imagined.

  “You struck me, woman. For that, I will retaliate.” Without mercy, he whacked her shoulder with the pillow.

  A laugh broke free from her, and she began striking him back until the feathers fell like snowflakes. He had never seen her like this, no longer filled with melancholy but instead playful. He wanted Juliana to smile like this all the time.

  “I think we’ve butchered these pillows,” she said. “When Marcus returns to this room, he will be quite surprised to see what we’ve done.” She reached out and plucked a feather from his hair, and he caught her wrist.

  “I like hearing you laugh.” He kept his grip light, stroking her skin with his thumb. He fixed his gaze upon her, not bothering to conceal his desire. She was a beautiful woman, and he intended to touch her again.

  He took her by the shoulders and lowered her back to the bed. Without asking permission, he reached back to the fastenings of her gown, wanting his mouth upon her bare skin.

  “You cannot have me,” she responded.

  “Can I not?” He lowered his mouth to the soft space between her shoulder and throat. The moment he kissed her, she let out a shuddering breath.

  “I fight for what I want, Juliana. And I never give up.” He threaded his hand through her hair, bringing his mouth to the space above her bosom. “If I have to kill the man who took these lands from you, then I will. If my life’s blood spills, then I shall at last have my immortality in Valhalla.”

  He cut off her words of protest by kissing her. Her lips were sweet, like a summer plum. He tasted her, prompting her to open her mouth for him. She was yielding to him, kissing him back as he gave up on the gown and moved his hands to her skirts. Here, at least, he could touch her.

  “I did not know who you were on the night I claimed you,” he said, lowering his mouth to her calf. “I thought you were the woman who betrayed me.” He kissed the back of her knee and was rewarded with her cry and the outbreak of gooseflesh upon her skin. When she didn’t push him away, he knew that she was enjoying his touch. It suddenly made his seduction more interesting because she was nearly clothed.

  “I didn’t know what I was doing,” she murmured. “I thought you were a dream.” A gasp broke forth when he cupped her intimately, feeling the wetness of her arousal against his palm. “Mr. Thorgrim, you mustn’t.”

  But her body didn’t lie about what she was feeling. “My name is Arik.” He stroked her, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was meant to silence her dismay.

  Her busy mind was working again, making her believe she should not take pleasure with him. His own lust was raging, but this time, she didn’t kiss him back.

  “I don’t know if my husband is alive or dead, Thorgrim,” she said against his mouth. And then he realized that her sense of honor was holding her back. Unlike Svala, she would not betray the man she was bound to. She had not willingly shared herself that night—she’d believed he wasn’t real.

  And for that reason, he stopped immediately. His body ached with physical desire, but it was a punishment he deserved.

  Any of your kinsmen would simply take her, his mind taunted. They would not ask for her consent.

  Arik had the strength to overpower her, and though his tribe was not known for mercy, he would never take a woman against her will. He preferred a yielding female body clenched around him, as she arched with a rush of release. That was far better than a woman who fought back.

  He didn’t argue when she got off the bed and walked toward the window. Juliana pressed her hand against the flat pane of glass, her mood somber once again. She looked as if she was berating herself for the moment with him.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked toward her. “Did you love your husband?”

  She held her ground but didn’t look at him. “I thought I did when I married him. But I loved a man who did not exist.”

  “Then you should put aside the marriage and find a man who is more deserving of you.” Even if it could never be him, he did not believe Juliana should grieve for an unworthy man.

  He pressed his palm to the glass, feeling its strange cool texture. It was a marvel to him that anyone could make something as hard as stone that a person could see through. He had seen glass before during his voyages, but never had it been this transparent. It was yet another reminder of how vast the years were between them.

  From this view, the green meadows spread for miles, while evergreen pines dotted the base of the hills. There was a familiarity to this land, a sense that he had seen this place before. And when he glimpsed a lone pillar of rock at the top of the highest hill, a chill slid through his veins.

  “I know this place,” he said to Juliana. “My brother held these lands.”

  Magnus had traveled and settled here, more than a thousand years ago. He remembered the settlement, for his brother had created his dwelling at the top of the highest point while other longhouses encircled it. They had chosen a place where they could easily see their enemies approaching, both on land and by sea.

  A coldness centered within him, with the sense that the gods were reweaving his destiny once again. It could not be a coincidence that he had been brought to this place.

  Juliana frowned as she studied the standing stone in the distance. “Those lands belong to Gregory Fielding, the Duke of Somerford.”

  “Do you know him?”

  She shrugged. “
We’ve met a time or two.”

  Abruptly, she frowned, catching his hand. She studied the outline of his face, her gaze sharpening with uncertainty. “That’s where I know you. You remind me of the duke’s son.” She stared at him as if she believed he was someone else. “His name is Eric, too. His courtesy title is the Marquess of Thorgraham.”

  The names were similar, and it unnerved him as he remembered the dream where he had seen visions that were not his own. Whose memories did you see in your dream? the voice of reason insisted. How can you speak a language that is not yours?

  Juliana had gone deathly pale. “The duke’s son was lost at sea, years ago.” She reached out to touch his face, studying him. “Is that who you truly are? I know that sometimes men who are wounded can suffer from losing their memories.”

  “No,” he answered. “I am the son of Valdr, not Gregory.” Any similarity between them was merely a twist of fate, nothing more.

  It was as if his spirit had crossed paths with another, switching places. He could not deny that he’d remembered visions that were not his. But it could easily have been tricks played by the gods.

  He could not think of that now. It was better to concentrate on the task at hand, on how to win back this woman’s lands. That was the reason why he’d been sent here, and he had to believe that defeating her enemies would win him the honor he needed to reach Valhalla.

  But he did want to visit the ruins of his brother’s longhouse. Magnus had placed the stone at the center of his settlement, and Arik wondered if the runes would reveal any missing pieces of the past.

  “We must go to my brother’s settlement,” Arik insisted. He was certain that this was somehow a part of his purpose. Of all the places the gods could have sent him, why else would he be back at his brother’s longhouse?

  “Now?” Juliana questioned. “But we cannot simply trespass on the duke’s lands. His Grace may not be receiving visitors.”

  Arik ignored her misgivings and answered, “First, we will go there.” He pointed toward the stone monolith.

  “Why?”

  “We will find answers there,” he said. “Possibly my brother’s hoard of gold, if we are fortunate. You may wish to find a digging tool.” If he did find the hoard, they could use it to hire mercenaries. Despite the thousand years that had passed, the promise of wealth was a timeless offering to any man.

  Arik opened the door and began striding toward the stairs while Juliana hurried behind him. “We cannot trespass upon the duke’s land, much less dig holes there,” she insisted. “It isn’t right.”

  He dismissed her protests, certain that this was where he needed to be. “We’ll get our horses first. You said they were in the stables?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good. We leave now.” He allowed her to shut the door behind them, and she muttered something about his stubbornness.

  She would soon change her mind, if his brother had indeed left behind a hoard of gold and treasure. Such wealth would give Juliana a very different sort of power, one she desperately needed.

  It was becoming painfully obvious that Arik Thorgrim believed he was a Viking. A very stubborn, bull-headed Viking who wouldn’t listen to reason, no matter what she told him. She didn’t believe his tale of traveling through time, and undoubtedly she ought to be more than a little afraid of him. It was madness that she’d brought him to Hawthorne House.

  But…beneath his arrogant confidence, she suspected that he would try to help her son. He had been patient and kind to Harry, and when they’d said farewell, the boy had hugged him. It had hurt to see them together, as if Mr. Thorgrim were the sort of man who could be a father to Harry.

  No. If he wanted to help them, that was all right, but he could never stay. It wasn’t good for either of them.

  They continued riding toward the stone monolith, and Juliana prayed that none of the duke’s servants would see them. Otherwise, she would have to invent a reason why they’d come.

  Mr. Thorgrim hardly cared that they were trespassing. Moreover, he’d brought a shovel with him and two empty feed sacks. Why in the world would he believe a treasure was buried near the stone monolith? Even if there was, surely thieves would have found it by now. But her protests had fallen upon deaf ears. He simply sent her a look as if he didn’t have to explain himself.

  Once they reached the standing stone, he dismounted and helped her down. He tethered the horses to let them graze and then walked over to the monolith.

  “Do you recognize it?” she asked.

  Thorgrim nodded. He ran his hands over the rough granite, as if searching for something. She did the same but could see nothing. “What are you looking for?” The gray stone had worn and weathered over time, and rose several inches above her in height.

  “My brother carved runes upon this stone. Sometimes he marked the location of his hoard, using markings only his family would understand. But they are gone now.” He ran his hands over the surface, and the expression on his face was uneasy. “I wonder if the wind and rains wore them off the stone over these thousand years.”

  A cold breeze swept over her nape, and Juliana sensed his disquiet. She didn’t believe that he had crossed through time. He couldn’t possibly be a Viking. And yet, her maid Grelod’s words came back to her:

  “I know what you are. And I know from whence you came, Viking. I prayed to Freya on my lady’s behalf, and the goddess summoned you here for her.”

  Superstitious rot, her brain reminded her. It could not be true.

  And yet, this man knew nothing of things as simple as clocks or featherbeds. He gave her son a knife as a gift and ignored all propriety, stealing kisses from her. By every indication, he was a barbarian. An honorable one, perhaps, but rough-mannered all the same.

  She shut down the thought. The most sensible explanation was that he was the duke’s son, returned from the sea. Likely he had experienced such hardships, it had caused a temporary madness.

  But he believed it with an unshakable conviction. There was no means of forcing him to face reality.

  Arik continued to search, but he could find no markings whatsoever upon the stone. “It should be here.” He drove the side of his fist into the stone as if that would bring forth the answers.

  Juliana said nothing, for she didn’t exactly believe in any sort of Viking hoard. She leaned back against the stone, resting upon the soft grass. It was peaceful from up here, with a view of the sea in the distance. Beside her, Arik’s expression held wariness. “I know my brother. He would have hidden his hoard nearby, if there was anything left.”

  She gave a slight shrug, as if it didn’t matter. “Do you want to go back?” Right now, she felt uncomfortable trespassing upon the duke’s land.

  “You do not believe me, do you? You do not believe that I am who I say I am.” He stood over her, his shadow blocking out the sun.

  She was about to say no, but the words wouldn’t come. Juliana rubbed her arms against the chill that crept over her. She considered herself a pragmatic woman, one who didn’t believe in ghosts or strange mysteries. But that night had held an eerie, otherworldly quality. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  And that was the truth. There were no explanations for the way she’d been carried off to sea or rescued by a man who claimed he was from a thousand years earlier. It had seemed real enough on that night—far too real.

  When she glanced over at him, his expression held frustration. Despite what he’d claimed, there were no markings upon the standing stone.

  She felt sympathetic toward him, for an unknown reason. He appeared angry and frustrated, a man who had lost everything. Whether or not Arik Thorgrim could do anything to help her prove Harry’s legitimacy, he was trying. And madman or not, he was the only one who had stood by her.

  Juliana tried not to look at him, but she was well aware of the caged strength in his arms. There was a wildness about him, the sense that this man could never be tamed. And she found herself wanting to help him, as foolis
h as it might be.

  There is no such thing as a Viking hoard buried here, her sensible side insisted. You’re being ridiculous.

  And yes, she was, but was there any harm in searching? If nothing else, it might convince Arik that he was mistaken.

  Juliana ran her hands along the base and saw that the grass completely covered it on all sides. The dirt was hardened around the stone, but it seemed that the monolith was buried several feet down. She reached for the shovel and tried to push back some of the dirt. When she stepped upon the tool, the grass was too thick for the shovel blade to sink through.

  “What are you trying to do?” he asked, reaching for the handle.

  She let him have the shovel and offered, “If there is any sort of marking upon this stone, it might have been deliberately covered up. Or perhaps it sank into the ground over time. We should dig around the stone and see if there are any markings lower in the earth.”

  A flare of interest sparked in his eyes. “I had not thought of such. You may be right.”

  Abruptly, he set the shovel against the stone and seized her face between his hands, kissing her roughly. The unexpected affection caught her unawares, but she rather wanted to kiss him back. Before she could decide what to do, he released her.

  Her pulse pounded, and it took a moment to steady herself. This man’s effect upon her was far too strong—and that was dangerous.

  “Go on, then,” she bade him. “See if you find anything.”

  For the next hour, he dug all around the stone, and it soon became clear that the granite went much deeper than she’d thought. “Do you want me to help dig for a while?” she asked.

  But Arik shook his head, continuing to dig until he’d gone three feet deeper. At last he set the shovel aside and rubbed at the granite. Juliana moved in closer and saw that there were indeed engraved markings, runes that made no sense to her.

  The sudden look of satisfaction on his face revealed that he’d found what he was searching for.