Viking's Prize Read Online Free PDF Page B

carted her in! The din
threatened to burst her eardrums, and she knew in that moment that the
shoulders she’d been irreverently slung over belonged to none other than the
leader, himself.
    “Jarl!
Jarl! Jarl!” they bellowed, each man louder than the one before.
    One
bedraggled beast with hair the color of the noonday sun came to stand behind
Elienor’s captor. Roughly, he jerked her up by the hair to see her better.
    Heathen!
What she wouldn’t give to slap his face just now, not for herself, but for all
the terror they had wreaked upon Count Phillipe’s castle! For Stefan! For the
way that he’d been treated! Bon dieu, were she not such a peace-loving soul
she’d strike the heinous smirk from his face but good!
    Unable
to stay her hand, Elienor’s palm cracked along the side of his face.
    Abruptly,
the hall went silent, and one by one, every pair of eyes turned toward them.
    The
flame haired’s gaze narrowed upon her, his eyes fairly sparking with fury.
    Her
palm stung. Still, she held it in midair, poised to strike again. She peered up
fearfully to see a welt beginning to form upon the flame haired’s cheek.
    “Jesu!”
she whispered hysterically. Seeing the ire in his eyes, she regretted her
rashness at once, despite the fact that he deserved worse!
    Beneath
her, the Viking’s shoulders began to quiver, then shake, and then rumble, and
she found to her dismay that he was laughing.
    Laughing?
    How
dare he!
    The
fiend she’d slapped, on the other hand, glared at her. But to her immense
relief he responded only by gurgling his ale in her face. When he finished
swooshing it, he grinned, letting the sudsy, amber liquid seep from between
rotting and missing teeth. She winced as a sprinkling caught her full upon the
brow, and resisted the urge to swipe the revolting droplet away.
    Beneath
her, the golden one’s shoulders shook ferociously with mirth. Bracing her palms
against her captor’s back for support, Elienor willed him to perdition and
beyond! Though even as she struggled for balance and blasphemed him, his husky
laughter filled her senses, riveted her, and only belatedly did she realize
that Flame Hair had taken another hearty swig from his tankard. He swooshed it
again, puffing his cheeks to spew it upon her. Fie! No doubt all would burst
into fits of hilarity this time. Uncouth savages! She squeezed her lids closed
and braced herself for the deluge.
    It
never came.
    The
metallic hiss of a sword being drawn caught every ear. Stefan’s voice resounded
off the stone walls, flying upward into the tower. “Leave her be!”
    Elienor’s
eyes flew wide as he charged at the leaders back.
    Her
mouth formed a scream that never materialized, for what happened next happened
so quickly that she would never be entirely certain of the chain of events;
Stefan came at them with blood lust in his eyes, his sword rising up. One
instant, the Viking leader was empty handed. In the next he held his sword and
was facing Stefan, ready to strike. With astounding ease, he’d also managed to
snatch her down to hold her by the waist before him. Next she knew, Stefan lay
skewered by his sword.
    “Nay!”
she screamed. “Nay! Nay! We made a bargain!”
    Frantically,
she resisted the Viking leader until he was forced to release her. “You made me
a bargain!” she cried as she tumbled to the floor beside Stefan’s body.
    His
face in death was still as sweetly innocent as it had been in life, no fear, no
regret—he’d done it for her. “Nay... oh, nay!” He was but a boy! God have
mercy, he’d died for her! She seized him, clutching him to her breast, rocking
him. “Stefan!” she whimpered. “I’m so... so... so, sorry!” It was her fault.
    She
cried out, her features twisting with horror as she lifted her tear-stained
face to the chaos about her. Bodies were strewn about the once spotless hall,
littering every corner. Tables were toppled. Stools, so beautiful once with
carved legs that clawed the ground, were axed