sleeping. And he hadn’t awakened when Avril blew out the candles and made her way to bed.
But in the middle of the night, she was roused by the sound of scuffling in the next room, and she crept out to investigate, a dagger in her hand.
By the dim light of the banked fire, she saw the Northman beginning to wake. His movements were sluggish, and his eyelids flagged as he struggled to sit upright.
She moved forward to get a closer look, hunkering down beside him.
When his gaze alit on her, a look of wonder came over his face. His eyes lit up with pleasure and relief. “Inga,” he breathed.
She frowned and opened her mouth, intending to correct him. But when she saw the affection in his eyes, she found she didn’t have the heart.
“Inga.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling.
She gulped, reluctant to break the fragile thread of his happy delusion.
He reached up with his bound hands and took her chin in gentle fingers. Before she realized what he was doing, he tilted his head and captured her lips with his.
For an instant she froze, stunned. Swiftly, the softness of his mouth, the warmth of his touch, the sweetness of his kiss enthralled her, and she melted into his welcoming embrace. He tasted of the sea and adventure and passion. And for one sliver of a moment in time, it was possible to believe he had feelings for her.
Then she remembered who he was and that he’d called her by another woman’s name.
With a soft cry of resistance, she tore free, covering her mutinous mouth with the back of one trembling hand and holding her dagger out before her.
Oblivious to her blade, he mumbled something in his own tongue then and, with a peaceful sigh, slumped back into slumber.
Avril scrambled back, scrubbing at her lips. God’s eyes! How could she have let him kiss her? He was a Northman—a savage, a barbarian, a dog. His kind were rapists and plunderers. Shite, she should have killed him while she had the chance.
Yet even though she steeled her heart against him, his taste lingered on her lips, taunting her. Returning to bed, she found it impossible to get back to sleep as unsavory memories rose to the surface of her thoughts.
It had been a long time since she’d been kissed by a man. And she’d never been kissed so tenderly.
Though she’d tried to deny it, rape had left her damaged. The loss of power, the helplessness had cut her deeply. For a long while afterwards, she hadn’t been able to endure a man’s glance, much less his touch. She’d wanted to crawl away in defeat, to hide in shame and lick her wounds.
But she knew that would have meant her rapist had won and that she’d bear those scars the rest of her life. So instead, she’d decided to deal with the trauma the same way she handled falling off a horse or being knocked down in a swordfight.
She’d faced her fears, diving headfirst back into the fray. Though she wasn’t particularly proud of her rash behavior now, she’d begun bedding men indiscriminately, forcing them to submit to her will, enjoying a heady triumph when they surrendered beneath her. Eventually, she’d overcome her feelings of powerlessness and vulnerability.
It appalled her now to think of the men she’d seduced and cast away. On the other hand, when she’d finally realized that she was pregnant, not one of them had come forward to claim the babe and salvage her honor.
Of course, after she gave birth to a fair-haired girl who was obviously the offspring of a Viking, she was shunned by all. She’d had to face the hard truth—she’d never find a man willing to play father to a Viking’s child and husband to a woman stripped of her title, her land, and her wealth.
She’d shut off that part of her that longed for family, friends, and love, hidden it away behind the locked door to her heart.
But that kiss…that kiss had turned the key in the door and stirred feelings in her she’d forgotten—feelings of tenderness,
But in the middle of the night, she was roused by the sound of scuffling in the next room, and she crept out to investigate, a dagger in her hand.
By the dim light of the banked fire, she saw the Northman beginning to wake. His movements were sluggish, and his eyelids flagged as he struggled to sit upright.
She moved forward to get a closer look, hunkering down beside him.
When his gaze alit on her, a look of wonder came over his face. His eyes lit up with pleasure and relief. “Inga,” he breathed.
She frowned and opened her mouth, intending to correct him. But when she saw the affection in his eyes, she found she didn’t have the heart.
“Inga.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling.
She gulped, reluctant to break the fragile thread of his happy delusion.
He reached up with his bound hands and took her chin in gentle fingers. Before she realized what he was doing, he tilted his head and captured her lips with his.
For an instant she froze, stunned. Swiftly, the softness of his mouth, the warmth of his touch, the sweetness of his kiss enthralled her, and she melted into his welcoming embrace. He tasted of the sea and adventure and passion. And for one sliver of a moment in time, it was possible to believe he had feelings for her.
Then she remembered who he was and that he’d called her by another woman’s name.
With a soft cry of resistance, she tore free, covering her mutinous mouth with the back of one trembling hand and holding her dagger out before her.
Oblivious to her blade, he mumbled something in his own tongue then and, with a peaceful sigh, slumped back into slumber.
Avril scrambled back, scrubbing at her lips. God’s eyes! How could she have let him kiss her? He was a Northman—a savage, a barbarian, a dog. His kind were rapists and plunderers. Shite, she should have killed him while she had the chance.
Yet even though she steeled her heart against him, his taste lingered on her lips, taunting her. Returning to bed, she found it impossible to get back to sleep as unsavory memories rose to the surface of her thoughts.
It had been a long time since she’d been kissed by a man. And she’d never been kissed so tenderly.
Though she’d tried to deny it, rape had left her damaged. The loss of power, the helplessness had cut her deeply. For a long while afterwards, she hadn’t been able to endure a man’s glance, much less his touch. She’d wanted to crawl away in defeat, to hide in shame and lick her wounds.
But she knew that would have meant her rapist had won and that she’d bear those scars the rest of her life. So instead, she’d decided to deal with the trauma the same way she handled falling off a horse or being knocked down in a swordfight.
She’d faced her fears, diving headfirst back into the fray. Though she wasn’t particularly proud of her rash behavior now, she’d begun bedding men indiscriminately, forcing them to submit to her will, enjoying a heady triumph when they surrendered beneath her. Eventually, she’d overcome her feelings of powerlessness and vulnerability.
It appalled her now to think of the men she’d seduced and cast away. On the other hand, when she’d finally realized that she was pregnant, not one of them had come forward to claim the babe and salvage her honor.
Of course, after she gave birth to a fair-haired girl who was obviously the offspring of a Viking, she was shunned by all. She’d had to face the hard truth—she’d never find a man willing to play father to a Viking’s child and husband to a woman stripped of her title, her land, and her wealth.
She’d shut off that part of her that longed for family, friends, and love, hidden it away behind the locked door to her heart.
But that kiss…that kiss had turned the key in the door and stirred feelings in her she’d forgotten—feelings of tenderness,
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