The Viking's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

live. But a woman …
    He wiped the spittle from his face, then dried his hand upon her breast. He felt her flinch and felt the full, evocative softness of the woman beneath the gown.
    “You’ve hurt me gravely, madam,” he told her in her own language. His tone was low. She seemed to sense its deadliness, and yet she seemed not to care.
    “I meant to
kill
you, Viking!” she retorted vehemently.
    “’Tis a pity then that you failed,” he warned her. He moved his blade against her cheek, and let it fall, ice cold, against her throat again. He felt her shiver and drew the knife away. He stood, yanking her toher feet. With the effort he felt fresh blood surge from the wound in his thigh. Blackness spun before him. He should have had his physician cleanse and bind the wound before coming against an enemy—any enemy—whether ten men with swords and maces or this fire-haired young bitch. She knew how to aim an arrow, and one look at her silvery eyes assured him that she was watching for his every weakness. She trembled, but her eyes emanated hatred.
    Suddenly, fiercely, viciously, she brought her knee up against his groin. He caught his breath at the raw agony, doubling over as everything went black on him again. He did not release her, though. He kept his fingers wound around her wrist, and as he staggered back, seeking a chair at the banqueting table, he dragged her with him. He fell backward, dragging her down to her knees before him. He wanted to kill her at that moment. He wanted to strike her so hard with his powerful hand that her neck would snap. He gasped for breath and forced himself to open his eyes. For a moment, a moment so brief that he was certain he imagined it, he saw pure, wild terror in her gaze, like a pheasant caught in a snare. But the look was quickly gone, and though he tempered his anger so he would not strike, he was certain she knew the extent of his wrath, for, upon her knees now, she desperately began to fight for her freedom. He almost forgot the fight as he found himself watching her, studying her. She was an uncommon beauty, with fine, beautifully chiseled features; a long, stunning neck; and the startling crowning glory of her shimmering hair. Evidently she was of noble birth: Thefine linen, wool, and fur she wore were testaments to a high station in life.
    He watched her too long. She was quick to assess the slight easing of his hold. She bit into his hand; he released her wrist, grabbed her hair, and smiled grimly as she cried out in pain. She might be beautiful, but she was also quick and cunning—and decidedly his enemy. He pulled her very close to his face, his eyes were merciless daggers as they bore into hers. “What happened here?” he demanded.
    “What happened?” she repeated. “A scourge of bloodthirsty crows sailed in from the sea!”
    He tightened his grip, dragged her closer. “I repeat, lady, what happened here?”
    Tears hovered on her eyelids. She clawed at his fingers and her hand slipped. Unwittingly she had found his weakness, striking his thigh.
    Stars burst before his head. His grasp eased. He was going to black out; he knew it. He forced himself to fall forward, catching her beneath him. He fought for consciousness and they rolled together. The mud and flour that covered him covered her. Their legs intertwined, and the movement of his thigh pulled up the length of her tunic. She cried out again in fear and fury. Ambushed by unexpected desires he let his rough warrior’s hands slide over her naked flesh, finding it soft and silky smooth. She coughed and choked and fought more madly, and curiously he felt the fever within him burn, for her thighs were warm and supple. He hadn’t thought previously of carnal pleasure, not even as he noted the beauty of her eyes or felt the erotic tangle of her hair about him. But then, with her breasts crushed beneath the chain mail onhis chest and his hand against the soft inner flesh of her leg, he felt a surge of desire spill