Page 19 of Kept By the Viking (Forgotten Sons #1)

His voice dripped with doubt as if he questioned her timing. He could have a point. What flowed between them was a storm threatening to consume her mortal soul. She picked up her cloak from the ground. It bought her precious seconds to settle the riot inside her.

She tipped her face to his. “Yes, because I trust you.”

Rurik took a half step back, scowling. Her trust was supposed to be a gift, yet he was the Viking leader all over again, the man she sought safe passage with in Sothram’s outpost. Barbarous. Skeptical. A warrior through and through.

She wrapped the rough wool around her still vibrating body. The man took her breath, her senses.

“Considering what you and your men lost in Byzantium, you could use the wealth I am talking about.”

His brows slashed over hard eyes. “A year’s worth of wages.”

“Much more than a year’s worth of wages. Do you understand, Viking?” Her hands rose in futile appeal. “I am revealing myself to you because I want you to ransom me. To—to have a great reward such as you cannot imagine.”

“Who are you?” The words came with a bite.

Who was she? Months ago, the answer would’ve been easy. Her abduction, riding with Rurik and his men changed her. She wore her wretched cloak like a royal mantle and looked him in the eye.

“I am the second daughter of the House of Alzaud. My father is spice merchant to seven kings.”

His frown deepened. Frustrated, she wanted to laugh. Why wasn’t he overjoyed? It shouldn’t be hard to appeal to a Viking’s greed. Especially one known for selling his sword arm to the highest bidder.

“For the highest reward, I must remain a virgin,” she said. Her bald admission was an arrow shot at their mutual lust.

Rurik’s silence unnerved her. The Viking canted his head, his stare firm. Calculating.

“Believe me when I say, my life is not my own,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

Of course, he wouldn’t understand. The Viking lived freely, going wherever he willed.

“There have been long negotiations about marriage to the fourth prince of Burgundy.”

Wealth was a golden shackle she’d worn from the first glimmer of womanhood.

She’d become a bargain piece. For family power and the good of Paris, all because of their Viking neighbors.

She stared into the forest’s darkness. What a twisted knot this was—her, rescued by a Viking.

The Forgotten Sons—the most feared mercenaries in all of Christendom—could return her intact and unscathed, all the better to seal a bargain to save her people from, of course, the Vikings.

King Rudolph of Paris had only one son. Because of this, he counted on his kingdom’s high-placed families to make advantageous alliances.

“You are promised to another man,” Rurik said at last.

“Not yet.” She rested against the boat. Her courage had a limit and she’d become so weary. “Negotiations were underway. But you must know, Viking, such an alliance would be very good for my family.”

“You are loyal.”

“To my family, yes,” she said. “This is something you understand.”

She had her family. He had his, the Forgotten Sons. Storm-blue eyes glittered in dim light. Forceful emotions stirred behind them.

“I still want you.” His voice was savage.

Sharp laughter bubbled up. “For my sex. Yes. That would change if you knew how much gold my mother will give for the safe return of a virgin. Royal houses can be very particular about their bloodlines. I must be untainted when I go to the marriage bed.” She paused before adding bitterly, “I will be examined.”

To admit it was lowering. She was valued for a hidden barrier of flesh.

Rurik’s gaze ranged over her. “That’s why you were willing to take me in your mouth the first night. You were willing to do anything to escape Sothram’s outpost.”

“Almost anything.”

Rurik’s mouth tightened. It was telling how the wolf of Birka kept his arms at his sides.

She missed his touch, but she couldn’t fault a low-born warrior lusting for a better place in life. Ample gold for her safe return, her maidenhood intact, would serve him well.

“You must choose. Great wealth or carnal pleasure…with me,” she said dryly and with a touch of self-mocking. “For all my fair appeal, Viking, I know what draws men to me. It is the shine of my father’s gold.”

Rurik paced the terrain in front of her. “How did a high-born daughter of Paris become a thrall?”

She tried to smile at the thread of doubt from her Viking protector. He was in danger of not believing her. The absurdity of it.

Speak the truth and few believed a person. Speak lies and people flocked to hear more.

“I suspect a rival spice merchant in Lombardy is responsible.” She bent low and pulled a fragment of cloth from her shoe. Standing up, she held out soiled wool with a distinct red, yellow, and black pattern. “I tore this from my captor’s clothes. I recognize the weave.”

He took the scrap and examined it in the flat of his hand.

“My marriage would seal trade rights throughout Burgundy and create a connection with Venice, perhaps Rome and Naples. A plum prize for any merchant. And helpful to my king.”

“It means nothing to me.”

“It means everything.” She snatched the cloth from him. “Don’t you understand?”

“Your father would not pay to get you back?”

“He would. My father loves me. But you must see what goes here, no?” She was forceful, trying to make him understand. “Ride into Paris, rescuer of the virgin to be wed to the royal House of Burgundy, think of the wealth you can demand!”

Rurik braced a hand on the rail. “Why didn’t you beg Sothram for help? He would take your gold.”

She gusted a sigh. Why was he testing her?

“Because a Lombardy man sold me to Hilda. She made sure I wore these rags before Sothram saw me.” Her voice quieted.

“After I was stolen, my attackers split up. One of them took me, tied and gagged, in a cart. The plan was to kill me and bury me in the woods north of Paris, but I convinced the man, which I sweetened with a bribe, that he could make a fair amount of coin selling me.”

Rurik glanced at her hand. “You traded your grandmother’s ring to him.”

She nodded. “In return, he took me to that flea-bitten place. The Lombardy warrior told Hilda I was a thief condemned to be killed but he’d taken pity on me. He told her I would say anything to go free.”

For all her boldness, her voice was small. Shrewdness lit Rurik’s eyes, a man assembling the truth. If she were a mosaic, several pieces had fallen into place.

“And you spun your seeress lie to keep Sothram’s men from touching you,” he said.

Weapons came in all forms, cleverness among the finest. She’d kept herself alive by wit and will, but standing before the leader of the Forgotten Sons, a powerful lesson showed itself—for all their ease and attraction, Rurik was still a Viking.

“Think how much you will gain by returning me to Paris untouched.” She raised the dirty cloth between them. “Especially with proof of who took me.”

“What if I don’t care about the gold?” he growled.

Warmth welled up like a bubbling hot spring. A low-born warrior, who’d risen to fame by the might of his hand and the cunning of his mind, wanted her.

But for how long? He was loyal to his men. The Sons would want a say in this.

“You care, Viking. I saw greed in your eyes and in your men’s eyes the night I talked of the red peppercorns.” She folded the cloth square. “I am no different than the ermine—a thing to be traded. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The corners of Rurik’s eyes softened, the perfect moment to seal a trade. She’d learned it from Savta, wise in the ways of people.

Appeal to a man’s deepest want. And his fear of not getting it.

“You, who have had nothing, could return me and buy whatever your heart desires.” She set a hand on the leather-carved wolf, her voice a whisper. “What will it be, Viking? My gold? Or my sex?”