Page 3 of Haakon's Fate
“Not forbidden, but?—”
“I can embroider wherever I want, surely? It is nothing to you.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“And what do you think you were doing, creeping up on me like that? Couldn’t you see I was busy and why? Couldn’t you guess I would be startled?”
“I—”
“You could be a dangerous criminal for all I know.”
“I’m not dangerous, or a criminal!” he exploded, goaded beyond endurance.
“How should I know? You could be.”
Haakon raised both hands in the air in surrender. There was no point arguing. He could have been a threat to her, and he understood why a woman on her own might have taken fright at the sudden appearance of a man his size. But still, he knew he was not at fault. He had not asked her to come to the forest alone or to get so absorbed in her work—work that, damn it all, normal people did inside their house, no matter what she said—that she didn’t realize dangerous criminals were creeping up on her.
Haakon sighed. This was exactly why he’d decided to stay clear of Saxon women. They were nothing but trouble, and this one looked particularly shrewish. But she was right about one thing. He should have left her alone. What had possessed him to go to her? He should have ignored her and just gone back home.
“Oh, and look, I pricked myself as well! I hadn’t even realized.”
Scowling, she held her forefinger up for inspection. There was indeed a pearl of blood at the tip. Before Haakon could say anything, she brought the finger to her lips and started sucking gently.
His lower body leaped to life with shocking urgency. Evidently, some parts of him, the ones that could not think but only react, cared not who the Saxon was or what she was saying. All they cared about was how alluring she looked with a finger in her mouth. Or even without. She was, as he had already noted, an exceptionally alluring woman. Even if he had not been drawn to Saxons from a young age, he would have thought so.
She removed the finger from her mouth, allowing him to breathe marginally better.
“Are you just going to stare at me all day or?—”
A rustle in the branches interrupted her. Haakon tensed, readying himself for an attack from, well, a dangerous criminal.
The person who tore through the undergrowth a heartbeat later was anything but dangerous, however. A petite woman—another Saxon, to his everlasting horror—ran over to the vixen he’d been talking to, looking flushed, and threw herself into her arms.
“Halfdan said yes!” she cried out. “I asked him if he wanted to marry me and he said yes! He didn’t even hesitate. I’m so happy! It will be—” She stopped when she realized they were not alone. “Oh. Forgive me, I?—”
A masculine roar interrupted her apology. Haakon tensed further. This time a dangerous criminal might well be heading their way.
“Where are you, Eadhild? If you are doing what I think you’re doing, I swear I will kill you!”
2
Oh no.
Gytha’s stomach fell. The voice booming through the forest belonged to none other than Eadhild’s father. What she had feared had come to pass. Somehow Alberic had found out where his daughter had gone and he was coming for her, ready to unleash his fury.
Eadhild blanched, confirming her suspicions. “My father,” she said weakly.
A heartbeat later, the bushes opened to let him through. His face was purple with rage and his fists were clenched.
To her surprise, the tall Norseman she’d been talking to placed himself in front of her and Eadhild, his intent was obvious. He meant to protect them, two strangers he had never met before, from whatever threat was coming their way. Gytha was grateful for his bravery because in that moment she wasn’t sure Alberic would be able to control himself. She’d heard he could be violent and on more than one occasion she had worried about what was happening in Eadhild’s home. But it seemed that today her friend would have someone getting between her and her father.
Gytha looked at the Norseman with new eyes.
Now that she’d gotten past the frustration of dropping her shirt in the mud and pricking her finger with the needle, she saw that he was…
Breathtaking.
She should know, having had Norsemen in her house over the last five years. But none could compare to this one. Though they’d all been tall and often muscular, they had been nowhere near as imposing. Their hair had been blond, his was golden. Their blue eyes had not flashed the way his did. The other men had caused her interest to prick up, he made her blood heat, her head spin and her limbs go weak all at once. He was, as she’d just thought, breathtaking. Even Halfdan could not begin to compete.
