Free Heart of a Viking by Samantha Holt Page A

his weary face, he discarded the furs that had covered his head and began to untie the cloth about his face. As he turned, his gaze landed on where light shimmered in through the open door.
    “Oh.”
    He paused in untying the disguise. Keita, in all her pure paleness, was silhouetted against the daylight. Ribbons of sun drifted over her shoulders, caressing her skin and drawing his attention to the gown she wore. He blinked at her several times. Was he dreaming? Had his plans failed and he was asleep on the mountains somewhere or rendered senseless? Breaths trapped in his throat and refused to be released. He’d never seen the likes of it.
    Thorarin noted her gaze on the disguise and hastily untied it to throw it aside. By the gods, had she discovered him? Would she understand once word of the stolen taxes had reached the settlement that he was the thief? He prayed not. He had no wish to force her silence by any manner.
    His gaze followed the curve of her waist. How could he threaten such a creature? Gone was the shabby, brown wool. It had been replaced with delicately woven, pale blue wool. Embroidery enhanced the waist and sleeves and it dipped low enough to reveal the gentle curves of her breasts. She was dressed like the járl ’s wife. What had happened?
    “What are you doing here?” he snapped as she gaped at him.
    “I—f-forgive me. Ragni sent me to...to request that you visit with him before the evening meal. I know not why.”
    He stepped forward and peered into her eyes. Uncertainty haunted that strange grey colour. “You should not have entered.”
    “The door was...” She motioned to the open entrance. “F-forgive me.”
    “You forget your place!” he barked, taking another step closer.
    There was no scent to her now. It reminded him again of her purity. He ground his teeth in a bid to gain control. She should not be here. Should not have seen him disguised. And she certainly should not be wearing that gown while she was alone in his presence.
    Her lips quivered. “Thorarin...”
    “Get out!” The molten desire in him bubbled over into fury. How dare she interfere with his plans? How dare she make him think of her while he should have been focused on his revenge?
    Keita spun away but not before he spotted the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Those tiny droplets did something to him, something strange. They made his heart flex against his ribs or maybe squeeze until there was no room for anything but this odd sensation.
    He grabbed her arm and felt her flinch. Softening his touch, he eased her around to face him. He went to put a finger to her chin but recalled how Ragni had done the same. So instead he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and used his own gaze to persuade her to look at him. It worked. Her lashes fluttered upward as though pulled by the force of his look.
    “Do not fear me.”
    “I do not.”
    He gave a little jerk of his head. “You cry.”
    “Aye. A lot.”
    “I did not want to be the one to make you cry.” Thorarin coughed in an attempt to rid himself of the grit seeming to fill his throat. It had become dry and scratchy. “You surprised me.”
    “I did not mean to, forg—”
    “Your gown.” He could not bear to hear her grovel again. “It is very fine.”
    “Ragni decided I should be dressed better. He wishes to make a show of me this night at the feast.”
    His lip curled and bitterness hit the back of his throat. The idea of Ragni using her like some object—even if he kept her untouched—almost made him tighten his grip on her arm. He supposed the járl had some sense. A woman like Keita was not to be worked hard until her fingers were raw and rough. She should be dressed beautifully. But she should also be touched and loved.
    Her eyes, a colour that should have been hard and unyielding, drew him closer. He became aware of her breaths whispering through the air and the slight shiver of her body. Thorarin traced a lock of pale hair down to her shoulder and