Page 9 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)

T rouble waited on this hunk of land rising from the sea. Signs of men showed everywhere. Fresh boot prints marked the soil. A charred rabbit carcass lay discarded in the grass, the faint smell mingling with damp air. Ahead, metal glinted in sand.

Brandr strode quickly to the open beach to get there before Sestra. He knelt down and wedged his shield in the earth to block the shiny piece from Sestra’s view before picking it up: a fire steel, the small, flat metal used for starting fires.

Where wolf’s ears are, wolf’s teeth are near.

Air whispered Odin’s wisdom, a reminder to keep alert.

His thumb brushed sand off the iron. The men who’d camped here made slovenly warriors. Either they didn’t expect others to show or they didn’t care. Were those men here now?

Or did others hunt for the hoard?

He tucked the fire steel in his belt and rose to full height, not liking unanswered questions.

His tart-tongued redhead untied her cloak, ambling past him onto the beach.

If he read her right, hips sashaying, the relaxed stretch of one leg after another as she walked, Sestra was at ease.

She likely missed signs of other warriors.

It was better that way. He didn’t want her worrying again.

They needed to get the treasure and get off the island. Fast.

Sestra trudged through deep sand and turned to face the landscape. Mild waves slapped the shore behind her where seagulls squawked over a dead fish.

With her back to the open water, she planted her hands on her hips. “It’s a small spit of an island, isn’t it? Almost as high up as it is wide.”

The distinctive crowned point made the island stand out among the few others in the waters off Uppsala. When she had described it at dawn, he and Hakan immediately knew the island.

Sestra surveyed the island’s peak, red curls blowing across her face. “We should split up.”

“No.” He scanned dense green trees behind him and the empty beach before him. Water lapped chunks of driftwood teetering on giving up their land hold. Grainy sand stretched with natural dips. No footprints marked the beach, save Sestra’s new trail.

If men used this beach, they covered their tracks well.

Sestra pointed at the path they’d trod. “That trail cuts the island almost in half. You could search one side. I take the other, and we meet in the middle.”

He shook his head. “We stay together.”

He pushed off the ground with his shield and made his way toward Sestra. She studied the tree line, her mouth twitching as though she judged how much time it would take to search the land.

“The island’s small enough. Surely no wolves live here.” She stepped to the right with an eye to a copse of pine trees. “I could go that way—”

He blocked her. “I said no.”

“I’m trying to get this done quickly. Then you can be on your way to Gotland.” She crossed her arms, pushing up plump breasts. “Splitting the work is pretty un lazy of me, don’t you think?”

He stifled a smile when her brown eyes flashed hot and peevish. If they weren’t careful, she’d set fire to them both. Their little sparring matches took on a life of their own. And now they were alone.

Truth trickled through his brain, bait leading him through dangerous waters.

Sunlight bounced off her coppery hair, the island’s strong breeze twisting free more curls.

Sestra’s russet bodice strained over ripe curves.

Her crossed arms was no coy move but distracting all the same.

After what she’d confessed about her breasts on the boat, he taxed himself to keep his vision at eye level.

Keeping his favorite redhead riled would keep her mind off the danger and away from him.

“I know why I like working alone,” he said.

Her wide mouth stretched in a flat smile. “But today you’re looking for the treasure with me .”

He almost laughed at having his own words tossed back at him, except his eyes itched and his body ached.

Lack of sleep weakened him. His hand gripped and re-gripped his shield’s leather strap.

He itched to drag Sestra off to a soft grassy place, lay her down, and free her breasts for his pleasure.

He’d kiss lazy circles over plush curves and make her purr.

Then, he’d wrap her cloak around them and sleep with her body flush to his.

“I gave an oath to see to your safety,” he said gruffly. “I can’t watch over someone I can’t see. Understand? We stick together.”

Sestra’s arms hugged tighter all while red curls wrapped around her neck.

They stood toe to toe in silence with a flock of curious seagulls watching.

No warrior would question him, only a mouthy woman not used to battle.

He didn’t need to explain himself to her.

They’d stick together because he said so.

“What about all your fine talk of choices?” Her chin tipped high. “Don’t I have some say here?”

A slow smiled formed. “Sometimes a woman just needs to be biddable.”

Her eyes burned a darker shade of earthy brown. “You want complete obedience.”

On the windy beach, a glimmer of understanding dawned. Sestra the thrall would get feisty and grudgingly do what was expected of her, but the woman before him stepped into new waters. Sestra the would-be freewoman tried her sea legs at full-fledged independence by standing up to a man.

Warmth burst in his chest. Not just any man. She tested her independence by standing up to him.

“You want choices? Here’s one for you,” he said, nudging the shovel on his shoulder. “If you don’t stay with me, you can do the digging when we find the hoard.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

A deep chuckled rumbled inside him. “Try me.”

Freckles twitched at the side of her mouth. Sestra measured him likely seeing how far she could push him. He didn’t want to squash her will, but he stood on better ground, keeping a safe wedge between them when he was the callous brute she expected.

“I promised to bring you here and see you and the treasure back safely. Nothing about digging.” He moaned dramatically, rolling his shoulder with an exaggerated stretch. “I was up all night loading ships. My back could use a rest.”

“Fine. We stay together.”

Tiredness aside, he couldn’t help but grin. He shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he did, but Sestra’s skirts swayed something fierce when she charged across the beach to the grass.

She stopped where the sand ended and faced him, hands on her hips. “Well? Which way do we go?”

“That way.” He pointed to a spot where stream and ocean met. “We follow the water to the island’s peak.”

Wind at his back pushed him, whispering with each long stride.

Get the Treasure. Get Sestra and the treasure safely back to Hakan’s farmstead.

Get on the next boat to Gotland. His boots dug into sand and another fact hit him.

He wasn’t even a full day with Sestra, yet his future on Gotland drifted far from his mind.

A chill went straight to his bones. Was Odin testing him?

Green trees loomed, the heavy breeze rattling their leaves.

Sun shined on his head hot enough for beads of sweat to dampen his nape.

He’d do better to keep his mind on the task at hand.

He scanned the path ahead, tracing a narrow break of dirt along the stream, but it wasn’t well-traveled.

Still, someone had disturbed the bushes. An entry or exit?

Sestra stepped sideways to let him pass, but the trail’s confines pressed them close. Too close. Her breasts brushed him, the soft weight enticing. She inhaled sharply, her eyes spreading wide and pretty.

Barely tamped down sparks shocked him. His feet refused to move. Wind carried her unique fragrance, fresh warmth reminding him of farmsteads and forests. Wispy curls skimmed Sestra’s cheeks, her crown of red hair beautiful against lush greenery.

Primal need surged as she tilted her face to his the way a lover awaits a kiss.

Pulse pounding in his ears, his free hand stretched to touch her.

Sestra’s lips parted, her tender hitch of breath weakening him more than sweetly curved breasts or a brazen pout.

His hand hovered between them when a warning rang in his head.

Don’t ruin what waits for you on Gotland.

His hand dropped to his side. “Keep up with me.”

He turned abruptly. If he gave in—and one touch was all it’d take—he’d slake his need on her.

He’d make sure she got her pleasure, but afterward Sestra would look at him differently.

He’d be too rough, push too hard, and she’d call him a Viking brute, same as she did other men, words he’d heard her say under her breath when friendly warriors reeked of ale.

The earth saved him, calming the lustful beast inside him. Forests renewed his soul the way water quenched a parched man’s thirst. This was Odin’s gift to him.

And his instincts about the stream were right.

The island spoke to him. Men, three at least, were here.

Boot prints marked damp earth. The prints didn’t point to the water as when a traveler stopped for a drink.

Footfalls headed out to sea, the boot toes digging deeper than the heels—men trotting fast. Axe bites had dug into seedling trees.

Someone cut bushes at the root and tossed them aside to clear part of this overgrown path.

Why here and not the other side of the island where the Dane’s boat had landed?

As they walked the bank changed, becoming steeper along the water. Brambles and leaves intruded such that he pushed aside spindled branches for Sestra to pass.

“Why are we going this way?” she asked, plucking leaves off her tunic. “Don’t you think the Dane would bury the hoard off the obvious path?”

“No.” He was lost in reading the trail around him.

“But if he thinks no one knows about the island save the four men with him that day…” Her words drifted into silence.

He slowed down and glanced at Sestra. She grimaced at an insect on her braid, her fingers flicking the invader.

“We’re here to get the treasure,” he said. “Not worry about comfort.”