Love's Fury (Viking's Fury #1) (2 page)

More curses circulated in her stubborn mind, each filthier than the next. Words she shouldn’t know; phrases unfit for the most despicable of men. Instead of speaking, she turned, then grabbed the tip of Konal’s perfect nose, twisting and tugging with all her might. He let go of her. His body jerked in pain. This was the only chance she’d get.

Silvia fled.

*

The little bitch.
Konal fisted his hands at his sides—laughter fueling his fury and embarrassment. Not only had she assaulted him, she’d managed to escape. He rubbed his nose as he watched her disappear around an outbuilding. Grateful Prince Ivarr hadn’t witnessed any of it, Konal sucked in a breath, then strutted away from the courtyard.

He’d held his temper in check after she cursed the prince … even felt a flash of sympathy. No longer. Ivarr had a weakness for beautiful women. Not Konal—especially a Saxon witch. He’d bedded his share of dark-haired, blue-eyed beauties on both sides of the North Sea. His cock didn’t do his thinking for him, only his fucking. The reason he found himself in Northumbria is because he had lost a bloody wager with his elder brother. Who could drink more mead in one night without vomiting? The punishment for his loss—serving the Danes, which did little for him. Though, he admitted, Ivarr had been a great friend and competent leader. In fairness, he’d gained lands fifty miles east of York, near the coast. And he knew exactly where he was going to take his latest acquisition.

He passed the smoldering scriptorium—laughing bitterly at the useless pursuits of monks. Then he hurried by a group of sheds and a barn. He scanned the area, no sign of her. What was her accursed name? Who was she? Why did she speak Norse and know how to curse a man so skillfully? He’d get answers and a whole lot more once he got his hands on her.

Sometime later, after kicking open door after door and searching every building he could find, Konal growled in frustration. The girl had a clear advantage. She knew where to hide. As if Odin heard his complaint, he found a monk in a garden. He wore a woolen dress, his head as smooth as a newborn’s arse. As Konal approached, the man dropped his rake.

“I’ll not hurt you, old man,” Konal growled. “Tell me where I can find the girl who you allow in the scriptorium.” As weak and incompetent as Saxons were, it surprised him that a female was permitted near the church.

The old man twisted his hands, clearly afraid.

Konal stepped closer, he expected complete cooperation. “My patience has been tested already—tell me.”

“She could be anywhere.”

Konal stroked his throat. At least the priest knew who he was referring to. If the holy man failed to provide the information he needed within the span of another breath, he’d split his bald head in two. “Where?” he demanded. Silence. “Answer me goddamnit, or you’ll die, now.”

“I’d give my life for much less,” the priest challenged.

Konal lunged, seizing him by the throat, squeezing hard enough to deprive the monk of air. “At least we agree on something. Your life is worthless to me.” He exerted more pressure. “Tell me.”

The monk coughed uncontrollably as Konal slowly eased the pressure on his throat. “Follow the footpath west,” he choked out. “Half a mile, there’s a cottage surrounded by flowers and rose bushes. The girl lives there with her father. Please, don’t kill her.”

Konal nodded and pushed him away. “Her name?”

“Silvia.”

It was not a Norse tradition to leave enemies alive. But Ivarr took pity on the residents of York so long as they submitted to his authority. Most did. And in return, the church, school, and scriptorium had been spared in the past. Northmen cared little for what gods their slaves worshipped. But not today. These ingrates had waited for the perfect moment to strike. The rebellion lead by the two deposed Northumbria kings had cost this city dearly. Hundreds had died.

The stone cottage came into view. As the priest had described, a flourishing garden ran the length of the front of the house. Konal forced his way inside, the space was dim, but he could see well enough. Two rooms downstairs, a kitchen and sitting area. The stairs probably led to a bedchamber. He climbed cautiously, listening. The door stood ajar and he entered. The small room was femininely decorated. A narrow bed with an embroidered coverlet, a table and chair, gowns laid carefully across another table. He sensed the wench’s presence—the soft fragrance of flowers filled his nostrils. The same scent in her dark hair. His cock hardened instantly.

She’s was here.

Perhaps hiding under the bed. He looked but found nothing. Something heavy smashed into the side of his face as he began to stand, the force of the blow enough to make his head spin.
Odin’s blood.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement. He spun around in time to see her retreating, but exploded sideways, snaring her ankle.

“I almost lost you,” he said, still on his knees.

She kicked her hand-shackled foot, dropping the scuttle she held.

“You assaulted me with a platter?” Konal didn’t know if he should laugh or beat the wench silly.

“Let me go.” She kicked again, but this time, he yanked her down. He let go as she fell to the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of her.

“I suggest you get used to kneeling,” Konal grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her toward him.

“I swear if I ever get the chance, I’ll leave your lifeless form in the open so crows can feed upon your liver.” Silvia thrashed like a snared rabbit.

It was a wonder that she acted so insolently. Once he regained control, he freed her hair and clamped on to her hips, flipping her over. He hovered above her face, rage and shock contorted her delicate features. Already hard with desire, her ceaseless resistance did unspeakable things to his body. But he mustn’t let carnal need overshadow his duties.

She’d publicly assaulted him and cursed Prince Ivarr, a man who’d struggled in his childhood to strengthen his crippled body. A man everyone respected, for though his legs were twisted and unsightly, he could limp along. But when he sat astride a horse, he was a formidable warrior. Her words against the prince would cost any man his life. And Konal wasn’t so sure she deserved to live.

Though little, she’d proven how dangerous she was if he turned his back. His duties did not include acting as a nursemaid for a bitter wench who needed a beating.

“Are you finished with your tantrum?”

In answer, she smacked his face.

All right, she thrived on violence—well so did he. Konal threw back his head and laughed. “A good thrashing makes me want you more.”

“Pig!”

“And insults…” He leaned closer, harnessing her tiny wrists with one hand, then forced them over her head. “Call me whatever you wish, Silvia, I’ll try to live up to each, one at a time.”

She glared up at him unblinking. Her eyes were the color of the summer ocean. A mixture of sapphire and emerald, on fire with hatred. He could stare into their depths forever if he had the taste for Saxon flesh. Which he didn’t. Not at the moment. But he admitted, she was no ordinary girl.

She squirmed. “Free me,
now
.”

He rewarded her futile struggles with a grin. At the very least, she’d be a welcome distraction once he settled his affairs with the Danes. After a solid year of fighting, he deserved a long rest. Konal’s agreement with Ivarr expired yesterday. Nothing required him to stay. Family and friends waited for him in Norway, a life he sorely missed. He weighed his options while he waited for Silvia to tire herself out. She possessed the endurance of a lad.

“Get off of me.” She kneed him between the legs, grazing his
pikk
.

“Goddamnit!” He winced. The burning sensation slowly spread from his groin to his stomach. He choked down bile as he ran his fingers over her, capturing her face between his hands. With one squeeze, he could end it.

She swallowed, her eyes fixed on his lips. Although her hands were free, she didn’t hit him again. “I’m going to have a taste now.”

Konal lifted her and her mouth dropped open in shock, granting him access to the heat within. She tasted as sweet as the fragrance in her hair and he groaned, burning with dark lust. Did the bloody wench eat blossoms, too?

Tiny fists repeatedly connected with his chest and arms, but it didn’t dissuade him. He deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue along the roof of her mouth, teasing and taunting. She went limp in his arms.

Then, as if something had changed her mind, she thrust her hands into his long hair. Konal took a chance, allowing his fingers to circle her breasts while he continued to possess her mouth. It didn’t take long to find pert little nipples underneath the material of her dress. She moaned. It amused him to hear something other than a curse escape her. He cupped her breasts, which fit perfectly in his palms. Hands weary from battle, but fingers itching for pleasure. He preferred a generous bosom, the more to put in his mouth…

Whatever doubts he had before, disintegrated. He’d keep Silvia and ride her until he didn’t have anything left to give. Then he’d get rid of her before he sailed home. Breaking the kiss, he rested on one elbow while running his finger lazily up the center of her body. He suspected she was covered in soft, pearly skin, honeyed to taste.

Konal suspected the sudden change in temperament was an act. No wildcat could be tamed by a kiss. His heart raced in his chest as he leaned forward and plundered her mouth again.

H
oly Mother—save me.
Fear and something else rendered her helpless when Konal kissed her. She desperately wanted to bite down on his tongue, but if she did, he’d kill her and she’d never recover the scrolls. Her only duty lie with fulfilling her oath to her father. Nothing else mattered. So she’d chosen to let the Viking do what he must.

A kiss was the last thing she’d expected, though.

After she regained her senses, she cringed. Violence hadn’t stopped him. Angry words only encouraged him. She must try something else to escape his touch. “I need to relieve myself,” she blurted.

Konal ceased touching her. “Aye,” he said. “So must I.” The desperation in his voice was unmistakable.

Did all men think this way? “I cannot provide what you need, sir.”

“You are gravely mistaken, Silvia.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Are you arrogant enough to think I’d willingly bed the man who axed my beloved father in the back?”

His hand fastened on her wrist angrily. “Your father?”

Now he played innocent? “You soulless bastard. I saw you in the scriptorium.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

He hauled her to her feet. His dilated pupils made his blue eyes appear black. “Accusing me of burying my weapon in a man’s back is equivalent to calling me a coward. I’ve never killed a man I wasn’t facing. Enough bloody diversions, woman. You belong to me. And if I want you, I’ll have you, willing or not.”

She prayed her father had gone to Heaven, because she was sure she was headed for Hades now. “Cowards are tolerable creatures, they don’t deny what they are,” she said. “It’s liars I hate.”

He edged closer, his nose nearly brushing against her forehead. “So you’ve found another way to insult me?” He raised his hand midair.

Silvia squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a blow that never came.

“Look at me, girl.” He clutched her shoulders and gave her a shake.

Her eyes snapped open. “There’s nothing for us to say to each other.”

“Give thanks to whatever gods you pray to. If you were a man, I’d break your neck.”

“While facing me or from behind?”

His explosive snarl made her legs tremble. She’d never seen an expression so menacing on a man’s face before. But he wasn’t a man, only a baseborn animal with enough intelligence to speak.

“You’ll leave this house with me. But I give you fair warning—consider how you’ll go. Upright or flung over my shoulder.”

She felt stupid. Afraid. Weak. Whether he swung the weapon that killed her father or not, he was equally responsible for his death. Hatred swelled inside her. “
Dra til helvete
.”

“Accepted—only this time, you’ll show me the way.” In one swift move, Konal hoisted her over his shoulder.

Her screams didn’t deter him as he carried her outside.

Panic set in as Silvia realized where he was taking her, back to the courtyard. She writhed, kicked, and beat her fists against his back in protest, but the lecherous whoreson only tightened his grip.

“Put me down,” she demanded.

“I gave you a choice, remember?” he asked.

Her blood chilled. He possessed no feelings whatsoever. The bastard murdered her father and knew she was suffering, yet was determined to increase her pain. He would do anything to win. Do anything to prove she had no control of her own life. But she’d not give in. Not while she could still draw a breath. Silvia dug her fingernails into the soft flesh of his earlobe.

“
Drit
!” He stopped abruptly, slapping her arse so hard her teeth rattled. “The next time you assault me, I’ll tie you hand and foot.”

She cried out as he shrugged her off his shoulder. Once her feet hit the ground, she started to run, but he grabbed a fistful of her gown. Silvia was no match for his brute strength.