Vanquished by the Viking Read Free Page A

linen to shroud the small compartment that would give her privacy.
    “It is almost finished. This way no one will see you.” Including him , praise Odin, once he ducked out of the shelter to continue rowing from the opposite end of the vessel.
    Perhaps without the distraction of her lithe body, he would paddle faster and hasten them to Cledemutha where he could find a nunnery. The idea had far more appeal than handing her over to some nobleman who would either collect Gunnar’s inevitable reward for her or would steal her innocence for himself.
    Despite his refusal of assistance, she raised herself up to her knees and pulled the linen taut on one end. The opaque fabric concealed them from anyone who happened to be on the shore, while creating a new kind of privacy. With the pelt at their knees and the linen around them, it was like being in the marriage bed with the drapes drawn to keep out the draft.
    Quiet. Intimate.
    He steeled himself to the draw of her beside him. While he tied off the material on one stake, he kept his eyes firmly on the task and did not heed the subtle shift of her body as she worked beside him. But the gentle response of the boat to their movements only made it more difficult to ignore her. He could tell exactly when she leaned right or settled back on her heels.
    She smelled like cinnamon and spices, as if she had baked something fragrant. The temptation to bend closer, to bury his nose in her chestnut-colored hair, was so fierce he had to stifle a groan.
    Turning on her, he tried to pull the material from her hands to finish the job, frustrated with his weakness when it came to her.
    “Don’t.” She resisted, keeping her hands on the linen. “I’ve almost got it.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her handiwork, observing the efficient knot she was tying. She bit her lip in concentration, her attention absorbed in the task. Who was this strong Welsh princess who could hold a crossbow and valued her independence so highly she would wager it all on a Norse raider?
    “Why did you trust me?” His question surprised him, wrung from the deepest part of himself. But having asked, he found he needed to know the answer. “You said you thought I was a man of mercy. Why?”
    The boat rocked with a gentle wave, the swish of water against the wooden sides the only sound save an occasional squawk of a seabird.
    “I watched much of the battle from the parapets of my father’s keep.” She let go of the knot, her work complete. Settling back on the fur, she hastened to arrange her skirts over her calf where a hint of dark stocking revealed the shape of her leg. “I wanted to fight too, but my father’s men refused to provide me with weapons.”
    She made a dismissive sound, as if the slight still angered her.
    Reinn wanted to return to the Welsh stronghold to thank those men for keeping her safe.
    “If you watched the skirmish, you know how it was fought. What business would you have among my men who wield a sword with ten times your strength?” He shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if she’d gone up against the invaders. Or worse, him. What if he had felled this dark beauty before even getting to meet her?
    “I have less might but ten times their passion,” she countered. “I had my home to fight for. What did they battle for? A few pounds of gold? The gem-encrusted cross that hung upon my mother’s crypt? What meaning did that have to them?”
    Her anger lashed him, her gray eyes stormy behind a sudden sheen of tears. For a moment, he imagined the damage she might have done with a sword in her hand and he wondered if she could indeed have taken down a man or two.
    “I am sorry.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “We honor our dead by sending them out to sea, so my people do not always understand that they rob your ancestors when they take spoils of war.”
    She studied his hand on hers for a long moment and soon Reinn followed her gaze to his fingers wrapped around