Kidnapped by the Viking by Caitlin Crews

Author:Caitlin Crews [Crews, Caitlin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-02-01T18:42:54+00:00

Chapter Nine

Verðr þat er varir ok svá hitt er eigi varir

Much happens that one expects the least.

—from Grettis Saga,

translated by T. Kinnes

A snowstorm rolled in that night and settled in over the valley.

Thorbrand could not say he minded. He had provisions enough, having stashed foodstuffs, basic tools, and his bow and axe here before he had headed south to take possession of his princess. He’d made certain there was wood enough to burn so he might keep the fire hot no matter how long they needed to stay here, and he and Leif and Ulfric had spent a day or two performing necessary repairs on this old cottage that the nearest villagers, several valleys away, thought had been abandoned in the upheaval since the last Danes had ruled Jorvik some eight years back. For no one liked to be quite so remote when the city of Jorvik kept changing hands and new armies could turn up at any time.

There was safety in numbers. But Thorbrand was not much concerned with safety. Not with a snowstorm battering at the thatched roof, as effective at keeping predators away as a fortress.

Giving him leave to think of nothing but Aelfwynn.

He had taken her innocence in the hot pool and he could still feel the first clasp of her body on his and the way she’d taken him deep, her woman’s flesh obedient even as the rest of her had trembled at his stark possession.

For he had planned to take her, there in the pool where the hot water might wash away the stains he bore—if only for a small while. But not quite like that. He had meant to honor the sweetness he’d tasted in her on their journey.

But then she had brandished his own weapon at him, fearless and determined. His heart had pounded as if this were a battle, and the best kind, at that. His cock had been harder than the dagger she’d tried to wield.

And all of Thorbrand’s good intentions had been lost.

Aelfwynn’s beautiful surrender had only whetted his appetite.

He had carried her from the pool, draping only her cloak over her body as he’d delivered her back to the cabin. He’d returned alone to gather their things, enjoying the slap of cold against his heated skin. It had only made him hungry for more.

Once inside, he had found her sitting on one of his furs by the hearth in the center of the small cottage, combing out that flaxen hair of hers with her fingers. He had moved her hands out of his way as he’d gathered her onto his lap, then done the combing himself. His fingers were a blunter implement, certainly, and he knew not where the urge to do it came from, yet he indulged it all the same.

And it had built again in him, the thirst he could not quench. Thorbrand had held her before him the way he’d held her on their long rides. He’d moved her head to one side and feasted on her neck, moving his palms where they willed on her sweet flesh.

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