Insolent: The Moray Druids #1 (Highland Historical) Read Free Page B

and stamina. When he saw blood, he unleashed a beast of battle with black eyes and sharpened teeth. An unstoppable beast who slaughtered indiscriminately, unable to decipher between man, woman, or child. What had Malcolm called them again?
    Berserkers.
    By the Gods . She was bound in the clutches of one of the most lethal creatures to ever walk the earth. And, according to Kenna, who paid particular attention to this part, the only possible way he would refrain from murdering her was if—
    She gulped, her eyes peeling wide and her mouth dropping open.
    If he’d claimed her as his mate.

Chapter Three
     
    It was because she’d kissed him, Morgana realized with a dizzy sort of exhilarated horror. In bringing him back from the brink of death, she’d bound him to her for life.
    The battle began to spill back toward the bridge, Vikings and Saxons alike using the trees across the river for cover and ambush. With an animalistic noise, the Viking stood taking her with him, and began a frantic search of the ground around them.
    “Put me down, and I’ll bring you your axe,” Morgana offered. “You’ll be needing it.”
    The Berserker reluctantly complied, and she yet again decided to forgo touching the river with anything but her feet as she commanded the heavy axe toward them.
    “Do you think you could untie me?” she ventured.
    Instead, the demon-eyed warrior shocked her by snatching his weapon from the blood-soaked river, securing it to his back, and gathering her into the safety of his chest before striding through the trees with unnatural swiftness.
    “Not that way!” Morgana protested, renewing her fruitless struggles against her bonds. “It’s too dangerous. We should go downriver.”
    She would have called the sound that escaped his throat a scoff if the idea that a beast like him making such a sound wasn’t so ludicrous.
    The Berserker clutched her tighter as they broke from the tree line and crossed the near-empty west bank battlefield. Sickened, Morgana was grateful to turn her eyes away from the massacre and bury her face against the strength of his chest. Without a doubt, this place would become a graveyard of sun-bleached bones and drifting souls for centuries.
    She heard the shocked exclamations of the few Saxons who stayed behind to thrust their swords through injured Vikings or to pull their wounded from the battlefield. Peeking from the safety of his chest, Morgana was astounded to see that even on foot, they moved with the speed of a galloping horse. Arrows sliced through the air, but none of them found purchase.
    Before long, she and the Berserker had traveled west over countless fields of purple meadow thistle, and over short stone hedges of farmland. He never seemed to tire, his breath remaining even against her cheek. Morgana could barely contain the gratitude she felt toward him for helping her to escape the horrors of the English-Saxon horde.
    The terrain gave way to rolling emerald hills and lush valleys of grazing beasts. The hills seemed to present a challenge for her transport, and a few grunts and hitches of breath escaped him when he climbed.
    Cresting a hill, they spotted a stream winding through a vale lined with trees that were short but still thick with vibrant autumn foliage. As though he read her mind, the Berserker made for the copse of trees, his gait becoming increasingly uneven. Ducking into the cover afforded by low-hanging branches, he took her to the water’s edge and set her feet on the soft mossy ground.
    Morgana felt a bit unsteady, and was glad when he didn’t move away. He crowded his massive body against hers, dipping his neck toward the crown of her head, and taking deep pulls of breath against her hair.
    Though she wasn’t as afraid as she knew she probably should be, Morgana didn’t feel ready to meet those fathomless obsidian eyes again just yet. Now that they’d escaped the battle, just what did this beast of muscle and magick plan to do with her?
    Or— to