A Viking For The Viscountess (27 page)

Arik drifted upon the sea for endless hours, leaning back within his longship. The sky was gray, like Juliana’s eyes. And though he believed he was sailing on to Asgard, that this was truly the end, he could not stop thinking of her.

She haunted him in a way he’d never expected. Her quiet smile, and the way she’d stood up to William, showed a courage that he admired.

By the gods, he’d been so wrong. Asgard was not the afterlife he sought. He cared nothing for the glory of battle or bringing honor to his ancestors. An eternity of happiness lay in Juliana’s arms, not in a kingdom of Viking warriors.

But that choice was no longer his.

The mists encircled him, and in the distance, he saw the faint glimmer of lights. The echo of voices crossed the sea, and he saw the face of a goddess rising from the mists. He did not doubt it was Freya.

Do you seek to join us here?

He could not answer that. What he wanted was to remain at Juliana’s side, to watch her body grow round with his child. To hear his son’s newborn cry and raise Harry as another son.

I want to stay with Juliana,
he answered honestly.

Such is not possible. Your body perished in battle and your soul must join ours. You asked for more time, and that was given to you. Now, you must join your brothers in Valhalla.

The answer was exactly as he’d expected. But then, the gods were known to weave mortals’ lives in unexpected patterns. If they had granted him time once before, they could do it again.

I would give up my eternity for a lifetime with her.

The voices of his ancestors seemed to fade away, the lights growing dimmer. He might have angered the gods by rejecting his chance at immortality, but it was the truth.

The love of a woman is not a reason to turn your back upon immortality.
The goddess’s voice held unveiled fury, and he waited for an invisible blow to strike him down. Freya was not known for mercy.

I am bound to her in the life of our unborn child. Even this afterworld cannot part us,
he told her.

She will lose the child. Then there will be nothing binding you to the mortal world.

From within the boat, he felt the sea begin to stir. The waters grew rough, and he grasped the mast as the winds heightened. It was a physical manifestation of Freya’s wrath, and he fought to hold his footing. The storm grew violent, lightning flashing from Odin above. Thunder rumbled, and water crashed against the side of the boat.

Yet he felt no fear. He was already dead, and he’d lost everything worth fighting for. From deep inside came the need to lash back at the storm. He stood against the wind and the biting rain, his fury rising. The wind battered at him, but he released a roar of frustration and grief.

Not yet,
he told the goddess, casting back the same words she had told him on the night he’d died.
You cannot have my soul yet. It belongs to her.

But he heard only malicious laughter in response.
A life must be given to take your place.

He sank to his knees in the boat, his head bowed. Grief roared through him, for he would never regret giving up his life for Harry’s. Nor would he want Juliana to lose their unborn child.

He understood now that being a father meant more than offering protection and shelter. A child took away pieces of a man’s heart. Even in the afterworld, he would carry the memory of the young boy smiling up at him as they smeared mud into Juliana’s house.

Now he realized the agony he’d forced his father to endure when he’d left Rogaland, never to return. With each year Arik had been gone, Valdr Thorgrim had suffered.

Regret swelled within him, as he realized this was his punishment. He would not live to grow old with Juliana or watch their children grow to manhood.

But he would wait for her in Asgard. No matter how many centuries it took.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The journey back to the Duke of Somerford’s estate was arduous, and Juliana wanted to weep during every last mile. She was no stranger to heartache, but the letter in her hand was a tangible reminder of all that had been lost.

Grelod had remained silent during the journey, not answering any questions, but simply keeping to herself. Harry had slept in Juliana’s lap, and she’d taken comfort that her boy would now live in a place that he could call home.

In his letter, the duke had given orders for Juliana to live upon the estate and make it hers until his son returned. She was grateful to have a place of her own, even if it meant remaining away from London. Here, Harry could grow into manhood without others ridiculing him for her mistakes.

And as for William, the duke had written that his solicitor would ensure that Lord Hawthorne would face censure for the way he’d deceived her with a false marriage. Although it seemed that all of the events surrounding the shooting had been erased, she had to trust that somehow justice would be served.

The coach drew to a stop, and Juliana woke Harry. “We’re here at our new home, darling.”

Harry yawned and stretched, before he bounded out the door to hold it open for them. Their dog, Bartholomew, jumped down, his tail wagging. Juliana smiled and let the footman help her out, ruffling her son’s hair. She clutched the duke’s letter and walked along the gravel pathway toward the house.

The country estate was larger than Hawthorne House, with a brick front and tall windows. Ivy edged the far wall, and she caught a glimpse of pink roses in the gardens. It was the sort of home she’d dreamed of once. And for now, she would try to live each day as if it were her last.

Juliana was about to give the footman instructions about their belongings, when suddenly she glimpsed a tall figure crossing the grounds. He wore a bottle-green coat and his hair was longer than was fashionable.

Was he real?

Her heart started beating so fast, she couldn’t breathe anymore. Seizing the hem of her skirts, she broke into a full run. The man turned, and she saw Arik Thorgrim, in the flesh. Despite all that had happened, he was here.

Juliana could hardly see the man through her tears, and when she reached him, she threw herself into his arms. “You’re alive.” The two words couldn’t possible convey her joy, and she embraced him tightly. Though she didn’t know how any of this was possible when she had watched him die in her arms, she didn’t ask. None of it mattered, and she buried her face in his chest, holding him close.

But he wasn’t holding her in return. Instead, he gently extricated her arms from his neck. “Do I know you?”

His voice held a slight accent, as if English was not his native language. She studied him, noting the dark eyes and the longer hair. Outwardly, it appeared that the man she loved was standing right here. And yet, he didn’t seem to remember her.

Her heart utterly sank. What if this was not Arik Thorgrim, returned from his voyage at sea?

What if it was Eric Fielding, the Marquess of Thorgraham?

CHAPTER TEN

T
he young woman staring back at him looked about ready to weep. He didn’t know what to say to her, but the moment she’d thrown herself into his arms, it had been like a jolt of lightning.

She was familiar to him somehow, though he couldn’t understand in what way. The soft scent of her skin, the honeyed hair, reminded him of a fey spirit.

“I—I’m so sorry. I thought you were…someone I once…” She shook her head, unable to speak. “I should not have thrown myself at you like that.”

He wanted to ease this beautiful woman’s embarrassment, for he didn’t mind at all that she’d embraced him. She clearly held strong feelings for him, and from deep within came the desire to know the truth. Who was she? And how had he known her?

Other memories began surfacing. He knew the taste of this woman’s lips, and he sensed the softness of her body.

“There was more between us, wasn’t there?” he said. Without asking permission, he took her arm in his. He wanted to speak with her alone, to understand what had happened between them. But he was interrupted by a small boy who came running forward, trailed by a dog. “Mr. Thorgrim! I’ve missed you!”

The child threw himself forward, gripping his leg. It was a shock to suddenly be hugged by a young boy for no apparent reason. The dog’s tail was wagging, and the animal jumped up, licking him with enthusiasm.

Gently, he pushed the dog down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “I am glad to see you, too, boy.” He struggled to remember the child’s name, but could not do so.

“You promised to teach me how to hunt,” the boy said. “Can we go tomorrow? I’m going to live here now.”

The boy’s eyes held such hope, he nodded. “I will teach you.” Joy brightened the boy’s expression, and he hugged him again.

Warmth filled him at the child’s affection, easing his immense loneliness. “Over in the gardens, there is a large tree with a ladder and a small shelter,” he told the boy. “You could go exploring.” He pointed toward the gate, and as soon as he’d made the offer, the child was off and running toward it with the dog following.

The young woman watched her son, a sudden softness stealing over her face. Her name was on the edge of his memory, taunting him. He led her inside the house, wanting to know more about her.

“Your father sent me with a letter,” she told him. “He…gave me permission to stay here.” Her face dimmed a moment and she said, “I suppose you know that he died a few weeks ago, the night you—that is, the last time I saw you.”

Another memory slammed into him without warning.
A life must be given to take your place.

His head ached as he tried to understand what had happened. It was as if the memories were scattered pieces of a larger vision, but he had not yet put them together.

For the past two weeks, he’d felt restless…as if his life had been violently disrupted. The servants had welcomed him back, treating him as though he’d been lost at sea. His memories had been tangled up, for this did not seem to be his life or his house.

And yet it was. He’d walked through each of the rooms, and faint memories were evoked in this place. He knew the portraits and the names of the servants.

But it felt as if he had been put back in a place where he did not belong. He could not reconcile himself to this house or this life…until now. Until he had seen this beautiful woman.

She removed her bonnet, and he glimpsed hair the color of dark gold. Clear gray eyes studied him, and she seemed to have gathered her composure. But still, she appeared despondent that he didn’t remember her.

He led her into the drawing room and rang for tea. And the moment they were alone, he crossed toward her and sat beside her. “You
are
familiar to me, though I cannot remember your name.”

Her smile was halfhearted. “I don’t think you remember anything.” She swallowed hard. “You aren’t the person I thought you were.”

He didn’t know what she meant by that, but it bothered him. “And who am I supposed to be?”

“You’d think me mad if I told you the truth.” She shook her head, refusing to say any more.

A harsh emotion rose up within him, and his frustration intensified. He didn’t like seeing her unhappy, especially when he was the cause of it. What was he supposed to remember?

“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “Tell me about the man you sought.”

She obeyed and said, “He was strong and bold. A little dangerous, even.”

When she spoke, her words seemed to unlock memories. He saw himself kissing her, while her body was bathed in moonlight. Within him, there came the need to conquer, to provoke her desire.

“He wanted to protect me and my son,” she murmured. “And this belonged to him.”

From her cloak she withdrew a knife. When he examined it, he saw an ancient weapon that fit his hand as if it was made for it.

This was mine, given to me by my father.
Not the duke, but instead by the man who had taught him how to hunt and how to fight.

There was a softness in her expression, of a woman who had loved deeply. Her dark blond hair framed a face that haunted him. More memories flooded through him, of walking along the coast with her, watching her son run through the sand. There was a sense of rightness being with her.

He reached out to touch her chin, drawing her closer. Her eyes welled up with emotion, but she did not turn him away. The instinct to claim her soft mouth was too strong, and he leaned in for a kiss. The moment their lips touched, physical memories came crashing upon him. He didn’t know where they had come from, but he
did
remember this woman. He remembered joining with her on board a ship, the waves rocking the vessel. He remembered touching her, watching her come apart as she arched and cried out his name.