Golden Surrender by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham [Heather Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307815750
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-01-24T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

15

The wind was high and rising quickly. On the bluff overlooking the vast expanse of the Irish Sea, Erin stood like a statue, still except for the sweep of her long mantle and raven hair caught in the gusting havoc of the wind.

The sea was gray, churning, boiling. Great waves crashed deafeningly upon the boulder-strewn shore. The water struck, rebounded, and leaped high in the air. Sometimes the wind would catch the droplets of the salt spray and Erin would feel the dampness on her cheeks.

The sky too was gray, ominous and rumbling, warning of a great storm to come. The earth seemed to be cloaked in purple gray with patches of heather bending low to the wind.

But there, at last, Erin finally felt at peace. This tempest, just like fields of rolling green, was part of the land that was hers, inherently Irish.

She had awakened feeling still and sore … and as if she had been torn apart. Then, remembering Olaf’s parting words, she had begun to cry, feeling hopelessly betrayed and used. But her anger returned, and she had cried again.

Yet beneath her conflicting emotions, she felt a sense of loss. As if she had been given a chance to grasp a glittering gem and been so amazed by its brilliance that she hadn’t given herself a chance to examine it properly.

Admit it, she told herself mockingly, perhaps he was right. You have loathed him, yes, but through all your loathing, you have remained fascinated. Perhaps as far back as Clonntairth when he appeared majestically and sternly like a magnificent golden god and then turned to smile at Grenilde. Ever since that day, in a small distant part of your heart, you have wondered about the strength in those arms, the heat in his chest.

And maybe he knew, just as she knew, that the fires created had only begun to burn. She could rail against him for his disdainful indifference, but his taking of her body last night had been the taking of her soul. She would never be quite the same again.

But as the waves lashed and the sky stormed, she was not sure what she felt for him. He was a Viking, yes, and the Vikings were brutal men, in a brutal age, but Olaf raised himself above men and the times and lived by a strange code of honor. He could be cruel, but she had to admit she had given him reason to be. He might have beaten her; any other man with a wife so hostile would have surely done so. And as to rape … they both knew how ridiculous such a term was between them.

But what made him what he was? she wondered. He didn’t love her, and yet even in her inexperience, she knew no man could have been more tender, more gentle, more determined that she cross the threshold of intimacy with as little pain as possible. But then he had been angry. Yet when he had heard her tears, he had attempted to comfort her.

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