A Viking For The Viscountess (2 page)

Quiet descended over the house, and her maid, Grelod, drew her chair closer to the fire beside the sleeping dog. The older woman had been with her ever since Juliana had been a little girl and spoke only a little English. She had sought work in London, after leaving Norway, and had found a position when the housekeeper took pity on her. Grelod had been a favorite servant of the baroness, Juliana’s grandmother, for she worked hard and said nothing.

Keeping her voice low, the old woman murmured in Norwegian, “It’s not right, the two of you living in a place such as this. It’s hardly fit for a beggar.”

“I have nowhere else to go, and you know this.”

“Your grandmother ought to have opened her doors to you.” Grelod picked up the mending and muttered to herself, as she threaded her needle. “They might have cut off your mother after she wed your father, but that was no fault of yours.”

“She did invite me to visit, but I would rather drown myself than accept help from her.” Juliana moved her own stool beside the fire, watching the flames in the hearth. “Lady Traveston is a horrid woman.”

“She did give you a Season,” her maid pointed out.

“Only because it was my mother’s last wish.” And because her grandmother had wanted to mold her into a lady. Juliana had mistakenly thought that it would be a wonderful chance to meet a husband. She shuddered at the memory. The baroness had drilled months’ worth of lessons and etiquette into her brain, as if she were preparing Juliana for war. And although she’d married a viscount, her grandmother had shown little satisfaction in the match. She’d never approved of William and had been aghast when they’d eloped.

A gust of wind blew through the crevices in the walls, and Juliana leaned over to bring the blanket up to Harry’s neck. A bleakness caught at her heart. She had to do something to get her son out of this place. Soon, she would have no choice but to seek help from her grandparents. Lord Traveston might have abandoned his daughter and granddaughter, but she believed Lady Traveston would find a place for them to stay if Juliana groveled enough.

It was still a last resort.

Restlessness flowed within her veins as she paced across the cottage, worrying over how to find the evidence of her marriage. “Go out and have a walk,” Grelod ordered. “You’ll feel better for it.”

“It’s too dark,” Juliana protested. “And I shouldn’t leave Harry.”

She started to walk toward the rocking chair, when Grelod caught her hand. “You’re troubled, and the night air will do you good. Go, and you’ll find the answers you’ve been seeking.”

“The moonlight won’t solve our problems, Grelod,” she argued. “Only William can put everything to rights.” If her husband returned, he could bring them back to Hawthorne House, admitting that their marriage had been valid.

“His ship might return,” Grelod admitted. “Give an offering to the gods, and see what happens.”

“An offering?” She hid a smile at the old woman’s superstitions. Grelod had always believed in magic and folklore. She had woven stories over the years at bedtime, legends that she was convinced were true, though Juliana now knew they had only been tales. Grelod’s beliefs were a part of her, and she fervently upheld the old Norse traditions. At night, she often told Harry stories about the goddess Freya and her children of the moon. Though Juliana didn’t believe in any of that, she saw no harm in indulging her maid.

“Give the gods a lock of your hair. Or a drop of your blood,” the woman suggested. “Perhaps it will conjure up the help you need.”

Juliana squeezed Grelod’s hand, knowing her maid was only trying to help. She did want a chance to be alone, and strolling outside might clear her wayward thoughts. “I’ll go for a walk. Watch over Harry and call out if he needs me.”

Behind her, she heard the woman muttering incantations and words she didn’t understand. Juliana sighed and reached for her cloak and bonnet.

The wind had stirred up, pulling the gray waves against the shore. She walked along the water’s edge, while a full orange moon bathed the shore in a shimmer of gold. One could almost believe that a night like this could hold a bit of magic.

She drew her cloak around her, holding fast to her bonnet as the night air buffeted it. Ahead, she spied her father’s boat, and a pang caught her heart. He’d been a fisherman all his life, and the battered wood seemed to draw her closer.

When she walked to the edge of the pier, she stepped inside the vessel, remembering the days when he’d taken her out to the sea, teaching her to fish. Being here, she could almost smell the familiar scent of tobacco. He’d been the most wonderful father, and she missed him dearly. Sometimes if she closed her eyes, she could remember the warmth of his embrace and his quiet love.

He’d been her steadfast rock, all her life—especially after her mother had died. A tightness clenched her gut as she stared up at the moon.
What am I supposed to do now, Father?
How can I support my son, when I don’t know if William is alive or dead?

The wind shifted, filling up the mainsail. Juliana frowned, for she hadn’t untied it. How had it come unfurled? It was almost as if an unseen presence had emerged.

Don’t be silly. There is no such thing as a ghost.
She pushed back the thought, trying to find a logical explanation. The sail had been tied up when she’d climbed aboard the boat, but somehow, it must have broken free. She fought with the canvas and ropes, trying to bring it back down again, but another gust of wind made her stumble. The sail swung out, the wooden boom cracking against her forehead.

The vicious pain made her cry out, and she knelt down in the boat, lowering her head to fight the dizziness. She’d never expected a storm to be brewing, not when the night had been so calm.

A moment later, the vessel started to float away from the dock, though she couldn’t understand how. Without someone untying the ropes, there was no way it could break free of the moorings. But the wind strengthened, filling up the sail as if an invisible force were pulling her out into the open sea.

Juliana fumbled with the ropes, fighting to reverse her direction, but the wind was too strong. Even when she put her full weight against the sail, it didn’t move. Panic sharpened within her as the boat sailed farther away from the dock.

No. She couldn’t let this happen. She tore off her gloves, pulling with all her might. But even that wasn’t enough to bring her back.

Her head ached, swelling up from the wound. Terror wrapped around her heart, for the boat was taking her too far away from the shore. And then how could she return to Harry? Though she didn’t want to leave the safety of the boat, she saw no other choice but to swim back.

Steeling herself, Juliana slid both legs over the side of the boat, pushing herself into the frigid water. She strained with her feet to touch the bottom, but her head went underwater. What had happened? Now it seemed that the shore was twice as far away.

Impossible. She fought to swim back, though the weight of her clothes pulled her down. The waves sloshed against her face, and she began stripping away the layers, letting her cloak fall first. She tore off her bonnet and let it sink. The water was so cold, it froze her movements, making it harder to stay above the surface. As she struggled against the waves, the beach disappeared, leaving her alone on the sea.

Her heart was pounding with fear while her mind tried to make sense out of the impossible. Perhaps this was a dream and she was unconscious from the head injury. Dreams never made sense, and undoubtedly that was what this was.

The moon turned the color of blood, sliding back from behind a misty cloud. She tasted salt water, and her arms ached from swimming. But it did no good. The more she swam, the farther away land seemed.

It’s not real,
she told herself.
It can’t be.

The nightmare only worsened, and horror washed over her when she saw that the boat was now gone. If she didn’t get help soon, she was going to drown. She cried out, though it was hopeless to think that anyone would find her on a night like this.

Her arms grew heavy as she swam, her hair drenched against her face.

And when she saw the outline of another ship in the distance, she prayed to God that someone would save her.

Arik swam against the current, a rope tied to his waist. When he reached the woman, her hair obscured her face. He didn’t know if the gods had brought Svala to him, in spite of his death. Had she somehow crossed over, losing her own life? Her body was so cold, he didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

He pulled her into his arms, but she remained limp and motionless. He kicked hard to stay afloat as he swam back to his ship. It was a struggle to bring her on board, but he managed to get her to the deck. She coughed hard, her shoulders heaving. Tremors shook her body, and a strange gown clung to her. It was dull gray in color, but high-waisted, with a square neckline and a slender skirt.

The moon slid behind a cloud, shadowing her face. He couldn’t tell if it was Svala or not, but they were the same height and form. Her long blond hair was unmistakable. If he was on his journey to the afterlife, surely this was his reward. Eyker’s brother had offended the gods by striking a blow at his back, and Arik felt certain that Svala had been given to him as compensation.

She was cold, her body shivering violently from the icy water. He carried her to the back of the boat, away from the oars. Carefully, he stripped away her wet clothing, cutting the strange girdle that was tied tightly to her waist before removing his own garments. Body heat was the best way to warm both of them.

He laid her down upon a rough fur and covered her with his own flesh, cocooning her with another fur on top of himself. With her head tucked beneath his chin, he held her close, stroking her smooth skin.

Her hair smelled the same as he remembered, like crushed flowers and sweet herbs. He rested his face against her cheek, inhaling the sweetness of her. Desire roared through him, along with the pain of Svala’s betrayal. She’d given herself to Eyker, sharing
his
bed instead of Arik’s. She’d offered him words and promises, but never her body.

The grim rage festered within his mind, making Arik want to punish them both. He wanted to touch her, to bring her such raw need, she’d regret giving herself to another man. Her bare breasts rested against his chest, and the tight buds of her nipples aroused him. Odin’s blood, she smelled good.

In his jealousy, he wanted to show her what she’d spurned, that he was a man who would pleasure her in a way she would never forget. He lowered his mouth to the curve of her throat, kissing her. Then he filled his palms with her breasts and set to work on seducing the woman he’d yearned for.

Juliana tried to open her eyes, but dizziness and darkness clung to her senses. Her skin was warm. So very warm. Against her body, she felt the heat of a man’s skin.

Had William come back? Or was this a dream? She thought about screaming, but his hands were stroking her bare back. It felt so good to be in safe, strong arms.

Yes, it was most definitely a dream. Ships didn’t break free of knotted ropes, and land didn’t disappear within seconds. She snuggled deeper into the man’s arms and imagined that he was someone who adored her. Somehow she was safe within her own bed. The dreams of icy seawater and drowning were gone, and in their place was a fantasy she’d conjured in her mind.

The gentle touches moved from her spine to cup her breast. Against his palm, her nipples tightened, and she couldn’t suppress the catch of her breath. The dream had become erotic, and she allowed her imagination to pull her into a deeper pleasure.