The Viking's Woman (51 page)

Stunned, she clutched her tattered clothing to her, then thought to leap to her feet and go for Garth. But just as she came to her knees to do so, she saw that William had had the same idea. Her eyes met his across the earthen floor of the cave just as he reached for the babe. “Get behind me, lady, and stay there. We are ready to greet your husband.”

Allen came rushing in upon them, his sword drawn. “He’s here, the Viking is here!”

“Quit your quaking, you fool!” William advised him harshly. “Let him come.”

And then Eric was standing in the entrance to the cave, towering there, his sword, his Vengeance, in his hands, his eyes a chilling blue fire against the shadows of the cave.

“You are a dead man, William,” he said very quietly.

“Ah, but, Viking, you are missing the obvious. I hold your child in my arms. And a dagger as well. I hold your wife. If you wish them no harm, you will let me pass.”

To Rhiannon’s amazement Eric stepped back slightly and rubbed his chin, as if weighing the offer. “Give me the child. You can have the woman.”

A gasp escaped her, but none of them seemed to notice her. “You will let me take Rhiannon? For the child?”

“Women are easy to come by. Healthy heirs are harder to achieve. Give me the child.”

William did not answer. Then Daria burst through the men. Like a whirlwind, she came before William and snatched Garth cleanly away. William, amazed that he had allowed the girl to end the bargaining so quickly, backed toward Rhiannon, snatching her to him, setting his knife against her throat. “Let me pass now, unmolested, or I will kill her.”

Eric sidestepped William while Allen went for their horses. Daria had disappeared with the babe, and Rhiannon’s legs were weak, she was so grateful for his safety. But Eric could not mean to let her go now, surely he could not ….

And then she thought she knew his game. “Bastard Viking!” she called him. “So you would take my land and my child and be done with it?” As she spoke, she held still, then wrenched with all her might from William. “My lord!” she cried, “I am free!” But she was not. She could not pass before him, could only race into the depths of the cave.

She heard a sharp clash of steel and turned in time to see Allen attack her husband, then fall to the ground, dead. William cried out a hoarse, provoking war cry and challenged Eric: “Will the Wolf let others fight his battles? Come, milord Viking, the fight is between us.”

And so he came onward into the cave. William’s sword caught Eric’s, and the clang and echo were terrible. Then Eric swung his great blade again and again, forcing William ever deeper into the cave and down upon the ground. William threw dirt into Eric’s eyes and Rhiannon screamed, warning him of William’s
approach. Eric rolled just in time to avoid William’s thundering blade. Rhiannon went deeper still, until she felt a cold breath of air and realized she had come to the northern entrance to the cave. Braced against the opening, she stared back in the semidarkness as the fight continued. Then she heard another clash and a thud, and there was a sudden, startling silence.

She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, listening. She blinked against the darkness and realized that William was down upon the ground just inside the cave, and that Eric stood over him, his sword at his throat. “Rise, William. I will not murder you here. You must stand before the king.”

“No!” William swore violently. “Kill me, Viking, my throat is before you!”

But Eric moved his sword away. “Get up. Your execution is the king’s right.”

Slowly William rose. But at the last he twisted away and came tearing toward the rear of the cliff. He saw Rhiannon there, and a horrible, harsh laughter came bubbling from him. He reached for her as he hurtled toward the opening … and the cliffs below.

Rhiannon screamed as his fingers fastened upon her. She fought him madly and freed her arms, but he caught hold of her foot and she felt an awful sensation as they started to fall together. They were going over the side of the cliffs.

“Rhiannon!” She heard her name on the night wind, heard it like a mighty roar from the darkness, heard it like the power of light and life itself. She clung hard to the scruffy bushes attached to the rocky ground of the cliff, but William had already fallen
before her, his fingers wound tightly about her ankles, and he was pulling her ever downward. The pain was agonizing; she could no longer bear the torture upon her arms; she was slipping, slipping.

“Rhiannon!” Again he called her name, and then he was above her, his eyes crystal blue and commanding. His hands were wound around her wrists and he was pulling her upward. She could see the bulge and strain in his bronze muscles, and her pain increased and she cried out with it. “Hold!” he commanded. “Hold, I command you, I order you. Obey me, wife!”

Her fingers wound around his, and then suddenly she heard a long, drawn-out cry as William of Northumbria went pitching downward into the darkness below, into death.

But she was lifted into the cool night wind, lifted into her husband’s arms …

And lifted into life.

She collapsed against him. He swept her up into his embrace, covering her with his own mantle, wrapping her in tenderness.

She remembered very little of the long ride that brought them from darkness into the light of day, and then into the coming dusk of darkness again.

Garth rode comfortably with Daria, who was tossing her elegant mane of hair about and—ever the princess—informing Jon of Wincester that she was her own woman, in charge of her own destiny, and that she had been every bit as helpful as any man.

Rhiannon listened to Daria and then laughed when Eric said that he was sure his father would be more than willing to entertain marriage offers on this youngest,
most willful of his offspring. Jon warned Daria that she should be very careful—he just might make an offer to teach her what a woman’s place should be.

Then Rhiannon and Eric heard no more, for Eric urged the white stallion forward and Rhiannon managed to open her eyes wide upon him and demand, “So women are easy to come by, milord?”

“Ah, my love, but I made no mention of women such as yourself. Women of courage and fire and beauty are rare. And the one that I hold within my arms is my very life.” He shuddered as he held her. “My love, had he taken you over that cliff, my only desire would have been to follow!”

She shivered, then felt his arms tighten about her. She looked into his eyes once again. “Mergwin said that there would be peace, if we could weather the tempest. Oh, God, Eric! He gave his life to save me!”

“I saw him,” Eric told her. “He has been taken home.”

“He said that he would not see Ireland again,” she whispered, and tears rose to her eyes.

“Hush, love, hush, rest easy. He has promised us peace, so peace shall be ours.”

They spoke little throughout the rest of the journey. When they came home at last, Rhiannon had fallen asleep. Her exhaustion was so great that she did not waken when Eric carried her to her room, nor indeed until morning. And then Adela was in her room, telling her that a nice hot bath awaited her and that she would bring Garth soon afterward. Rhiannon rose and gladly stepped into the bath, wondering if she would ever wash away the repulsion that William’s touch had aroused within her, then pausing as
she closed her eyes and mourned anew for Mergwin. He had come to mean so much to her. But she was home and alive, and her son, too, was alive.

And Eric …

They had survived the tempest.

She rose and wrapped a linen towel about herself, and just then Eric came into the room. He, too, looked infinitely better than he had the night before. He had bathed away the dirt and blood, and he was as golden and regal and magnificent as she had ever seen him.

He came swiftly to her side and swept her, towel and dampness and all, into the fervor of his embrace. She clung to him, then felt the strength of his arms as he swept her up again, bearing her toward the bed. She met his kiss with a lusty fervor of her own, but when he peeled her towel away and his feverish lips kissed her passionately upon her breast, she pulled up, catching his golden head, protesting. “Eric, we mustn’t! There’s so much to do this morning!”

“Such as?” he demanded.

“Garth, milord. Surely he will be wanting me soon.”

“Indeed … soon,” Eric agreed. “Daria is caring for him, and he is sipping on a skin of goat’s milk. She will bring him soon enough.”

Still, Rhiannon shook her head. “Eric, we musn’t!” Tears stung her eyes. “Remember Mergwin! There are prayers to be said, arrangements to be made ….”

“Ah, yes.” Eric rolled to his side. “Mergwin.” His eyes, carrying a light of wicked blue fire, fell challengingly
upon hers. “There are no arrangements to be made.”

“But—”

“Mergwin is alive and well and resting comfortably below. His only distress is that he did not correctly predict his own death. He has requested that my parents come immediately to visit us, since he is determined that he cannot set foot upon Irish soil. So, indeed, since I expect the King of Wolves and his lovely queen, my mother, any day, we will have preparations. But not, my love, this very moment.”

“He—he—Mergwin is alive?” Rhiannon gasped.

Eric nodded. His smiled deepened as he ran a finger along her naked abdomen and said softly, “Truly he is alive, and he has taught me much of life, just as you have taught me everything of love. Our future was sorely imperiled last night! Indeed, our life together has been fraught with storms. So very often we have been parted—and swords have clashed between us and arrows have flown. But now we have this peaceful time together, and it is precious between us, just as all of our time, and all of our lives,
must
be from now on.”

“Indeed, my love!” Rhiannon shivered and, catching his hand, kissed his fingers most tenderly.

He rose up against her and gently touched her lips with his own, his eyes still dancing. “Once upon a time, you see, when I was but moments old, Mergwin agreed that I was quite a Viking, quite a Wolf, just like my father. And he warned Olaf that I would go through tempest and travail and wander the world a-Viking, but then he said that a vixen would tame the wolf. And when that came about, I would seek
adventure no more but find peace within the arms of my wild and courageous little fox.”

Rhiannon nodded slowly, stretched out her arms, and wrapped them around him. “And am I such a vixen, then, milord?”

“Indeed you are. Willful, impetuous, fascinating, and very brave. Exactly the mate I might have desired. For life, my love, and beyond.”

“Come then, my Viking, my Wolf. Breathe your sweet desire upon my lips, and I will seek to tame you if I may.”

“With all my heart,” he agreed, and his laughter was husky as he rolled her atop him, meeting the silvered beauty of her gaze once again. “You see, love, there’s been another prophesy.”

“Indeed?” she inquired warily.

“Mergwin has informed me that should we seize the moment, I shall soon be the father of a daughter to rival the beauty of the very gods—and that of her mother, of course.”

Rhiannon laughed, but then her laughter faded as his lips descended upon hers and she was quickly swept into the fierce and tender passion of his kiss. The sweet heat of desire quickly engulfed her, and she yielded herself eagerly to the endless depths of her love.

It was later, much later, before she whispered beside him, “A daughter, my love?”

“A daughter,” he agreed.

And she sighed, content, and curled comfortably into the great curve of his arms.

Mergwin was never, never wrong.

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author Heather Graham has written over one hundred novels and novellas, including category, romantic suspense, historical romance, and paranormal. Married since high school graduation and the mother of five, her greatest love in life remains her family, but she also believes her career has been an incredible gift. Romance Writers of America presented Heather with a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2003.