Love's Fury (Viking's Fury #1) (4 page)

Finally, she jumped up and scuttled into the kitchen.

Konal took the scroll from his cousin, broke the wax seal, and then opened it. He scanned the document, searching for the prince’s signature and a legal description of the lands he’d been given. As he’d expected, 3,000 acres were his to do with as he pleased. “Thank you for this.” He folded the paper in half, then placed it on the stone mantel.

“Where will you go?”

“I need to spend some time looking over my new assets,” Konal started, rubbing his beard while he gazed toward the kitchen. “From what I’ve been told, the Saxons who manage the house are very capable and welcome the change in ownership.” He sat down.

Silvia returned carrying a tray. She stopped in front of Hallam first, offering him a cup of wine. Then she addressed Konal. “Drink, milord?”

This is what he envisioned the girl doing, serving him without complaint. He nodded, accepting his measure. She set the tray on the nearby table, walked to the hearth with two bowls, and ladled stew into one. She presented his cousin with a bowl. Hallam smiled, then tasted the food.

“Venison,” he commented, licking his lips.

“Seasoned with my father’s wine,” Silvia added, returning with Konal’s portion.

Konal held out his hand. “Good girl.”

She stared down at him, her hands trembling.

“You’ve nothing to fear,” Konal said sincerely.

Her eyes flared, then she dumped the hot food on his lap. “It’s not fear, milord.”

Konal howled in pain, shooting up from his chair. Burned.
Goddamn it.
The creature was determined to maim his manhood. “You’ll pay…” He shook his fist at her as she ran abovestairs. Her bedchamber door slammed shut. “Wretched bitch.”

Hallam’s laughter didn’t help.

Konal looked down. His blasted braies were covered in dark broth, chunks of meat, and vegetables. He brushed himself off. “There’s less frost between Bestia’s legs than hers.”

“And I thought the war was over…” Hallam said.

Konal lowered his chin. “She’s a madwoman. Raised with wolves. Possessed by spirits.” The shock hadn’t abated yet.

“If she’s unbendable—sell her.”

Konal knew
who
was prepared to pay and gritted his teeth. Hallam couldn’t keep his eyes off her. The girl’s features weren’t exactly Saxon. She favored the Norse in some ways. Dark-haired with eyes that penetrated his soul. No wonder the Danes prized her. She was a walking, breathing Valkyrie who made him feel like an animal. A rabid one.

P
unishment, severe—swift—painful—unforgettable. That’s
what the wench deserved and that’s what she’d get for her latest act of violence and disobedience. Konal paced in front of the fire, collecting his thoughts. Cursed Saxon.

“The longer you delay the sale and tolerate her continued defiance, the more likely she is to make an utter fool out of you.”

“You, too, need to be reminded of your place, cousin,” he growled. “Forget anything you’ve dreamt of doing with her. The only man she’ll have any dealings with is me.”

Hallam stood, placed his empty bowl on the table, then walked over to his cousin. “You think I’m acting selfishly? Devised a plan to relieve you of your captive for my own pleasure?”

“I don’t think,” Konal emphasized. “I know. History speaks for itself.” A skilled scavenger, Hallam spent his youth traipsing after Konal, drinking and fighting at his side—benefitting from his leftovers. “You can assure the Danes I’ve completed my service and am thoroughly pleased with my reward. Leave me. Now.”

Hallam gave him an appraising look. “I thought you were in a rush to return home.”

Konal shrugged. “Today, tomorrow, a few weeks hence, it matters not. I’ll leave when I’m ready. After I’ve fucked some sense into that witch upstairs.”

His cousin smiled unconvincingly. “If it’s female companionship you require,” he said. “There is a house full of more willing partners…”

“I’ll warn you once, Hallam. Continue to harass me and you’ll pay the price.” He balled his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “Go. I’ll send for you before I leave for the coast.”

“You’re very charming when you’re angry.” Hallam headed for the door. “I respect your wishes. But, promise me one thing.”

One thing usually meant two or three. “What?”

“If you ever grow tired of her, I’m the only man you’ll consider selling her to.”

Konal squared his shoulders. Hallam knew how to get under his skin. How to enrage him enough to beat him to death. Seven years ago, it nearly happened, that’s when everything changed between them. The only reason he’d escaped Konal’s wrath … Hallam’s father intervened. It earned him the title—Konal the Red. “Get out.”

His kinsman bowed with mock respect, then disappeared outside.

Konal turned his attention to the narrow stairs. Blood pounded between his ears. He massaged his temples and took several deep breaths.
Odin’s blood.
The list of grievances he had against the girl outnumbered all enemies he’d killed. She’d tweaked his nose, cursed the prince, kicked him in the bollocks, tried to stab him, and now burned him with hot stew. All in front of his kinsmen. He climbed the first step slowly, then found himself taking two at a time. When he reached the landing, he kicked the door open.

Silvia didn’t move from her spot on the bed.

Much to his surprise, she appeared completely unaffected by his sudden intrusion. “Woman,” he hissed. “I’ve come to impart a valuable lesson.”

“You’ve nothing to teach me, barbarian,” she retorted. “Except how to hate.”

“Hate?” he repeated as he neared her bedside. “I’ve shown you everything
but
hatred. Do you agree?”

She averted her eyes.

“Haven’t I?” he asked more heatedly, curling his fingers under her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

She jerked away. “Don’t touch me unless you plan on killing me.”

No fear. No sense. “You’ll pay for your disrespect.”

“If it is coin you want, I have silver.” She slid off the bed, walked to a cabinet, and took out a leather pouch. She whirled around. “Here is my life savings. It should be enough to buy my freedom.” She flung the bag at him.

It hit him in the chest, then fell to the floor. Yet another assault. Perhaps the girl was deranged. That would explain her careless resistance. Konal had never met a woman with so little regard for her own life. It baffled him. What could he do to a woman who’d lost her mind? Imprison her, starve her to death? Fit her with an iron collar and chain? Sell her to an expectant fool like Hallam?
No…

The thought of another man touching her nearly drove him mad. He swept her into his arms and dropped her like a sack of grain on the bed. The wood frame creaked and then collapsed. She squealed, rolling into the middle of the now sagging mattress. She thrashed her arms and legs in a pitiful attempt to get up. He bellowed with laughter at how helpless she looked, then leaned over and grabbed two fistfuls of the front of her dress. He’d made up his mind.

“It’s time,” he said without remorse, before lifting her.

She attempted a wild punch, but missed his face. “Let me go!”

Never.
His rage turned to intrigue. Taming wild creatures had always been a favorite pastime growing up—breaking horses—domesticating boars he trapped in the woods. Why should he see her any differently? She behaved savagely—he’d treat her thusly. Still holding on to her dress with both hands, he dragged her kicking and screaming to the nearest chair and then sat down. He pulled her onto his lap, flipping her onto her stomach.

With one arm hooked around her neck, he hiked her skirt above her waist.

“No! Dear God, no!” She reached behind her back, clawing his arm.

“Well time somebody taught you to respect your master.” Konal eyed her round, little arse appreciatively. Pearly white cheeks begged for his attention. Crack. His hand came down hard. She screamed. Crack. She flailed.

“Stop,
please
,” she cried.

Thwack.

“No…” She kicked her feet.

He landed a series of stinging blows. A few making him wince. Finally, her quiet sobs stopped him. He eyed her backside, satisfyingly red. “Have I made my point clearly?”

“Godless bastard,” she said.

Smack. “Had enough?”

“I hate you.”

Crack. “Will you obey me?”

Silence.

He nodded then and, thinking she finally understood, he let go. “Get up.”

Silvia rolled off, dropping onto the floor.

“After everything you’ve done, a simple thrashing has silenced you like a child. Collect yourself woman, I’m still hungry.”

That made her move. She hoisted herself up and rearranged her skirt. Her beautiful face was tear-stained, her eyes swollen and red. “Then feed yourself.”

Should he get a horsewhip? “Get me a bowl of stew and some wine,
now
.” Blowing out a gusty breath, Konal swore the gods were testing him, perhaps even enjoying his suffering.

“I refuse to serve you. I won’t be forced to spend another bloody moment in your presence.”

“Do you truly have a death wish?”

“If it reunites me with my beloved father,” she said, “I freely offer you my throat.”

Stunned, he stared at her. Her impudence seemed endless. Konal moved his hand to his weapon belt where he kept a blade for moments like this. Slitting the throat of an enemy had always been a quick, clean way to dispose of someone. Should he fulfill her wish? Send her to whatever underworld she believed in? Reunite her with her sire? In his lifetime, he’d only been forced to kill one woman. The old bitch threatened to poison his sister. Although he’d been justified, he felt so guilty afterward that he paid a generous
wergild
to the woman’s family.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Spare me the wait.”

He started to unsheathe the blade, but something stopped him. A memory from his childhood. A terrifying feeling that grew inside him. The thought of her dying—the idea that he’d ever hurt her intentionally—nearly dropped him on his knees. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. What would keep him from carrying out her wish? Saxons were as numerous as cattle but worth much less.

“I’ll not kill you today. Or any other bloody day you choose.” He’d hear no more of it.

Her features twisted into the blackest look he’d ever seen on a woman’s face. “First you whip me into submission and now you refuse to kill me?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. A Norseman with a conscience? Can it be true?” Bitterness dripped from her sweet lips.

He’d had enough. Konal grabbed her around the waist and tugged her to his chest. This is what she did to him; the reason he refused to maim or kill her. Instead of hurting Silvia, he’d dominate her. Break her. Have her if it was the last thing he ever did. He ignored her protests and captured her angry mouth with his. One taste. He thrust his tongue between her lips, taking what he’d wanted all along.

She melted in his arms.

Then he broke away and chuckled—not wanting her to see how much she affected him. Her eyes grew wide with confusion, but he didn’t care. He’d found her weakness. “Before you join me in the morning, I suggest you find a way to control your temper. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to flog you in front of every Dane I can find.”

He left her standing in the middle of her bedchamber.

*

Ashamed of herself,
Silvia dipped a cloth in the pitcher of water by her bed and wiped her traitorous lips clean. She enjoyed the kiss this time, and however brief the pleasure didn’t matter. It infuriated her. She scanned the room. Everything was out of place. Her bed appeared unfixable. The contents on top of the table near her bed were on the floor. And her silver… By God, the fiend refused to take her money. Why? She walked across the room and picked up the leather bag. She squeezed it so hard it hurt.

If only it were his thick neck between her hands. She’d choke the life out of him. The man she suspected killed her father. The animal who dared to assault her under her own roof. She rubbed her arse. It stung. How much torture could she withstand? She gazed down at her dress. Ruined. Her whole world was breaking apart and tears filled her eyes. She’d warred with herself long enough. Since she survived the fire in the scriptorium, the public executions, every attack she’d made against Konal, and because he refused to kill her, she’d have to take matters into her own hands. In the morning, after she broke bread, she’d sneak into the kitchen, take a knife, slip back upstairs, say her prayers, and slit her own throat.

Hope for a dignified death disappeared the moment her father died. Once he shut his eyes and breathed his last, her soul went with him. Life withered in that moment. All that remained was a shell of the woman she had been. She’d brave an eternity in fire to escape the living, breathing devil downstairs.

The bastard was eating her father’s food and sleeping on his chair. Silvia couldn’t banish the appalling image from her mind. Norsemen were soulless creatures. More frigid than the regions they sailed from. And once she was gone, he’d steal everything. The legacy of her family wiped from the minds and hearts of her kinsmen forever.