Free Devil's Angel by Mallery Malone

spirit, my Valkyrie. Had those raiders possessed even a third as much, it would have been a fair fight.”
    Still reeling from the feel of her hair in his hands, it took a moment for her to answer. “You went after the raiders who attacked your village?”
    Dark satisfaction swept through him. “Yes, and let one live to take the tale back over the border.”
    “I should have been there!” she cried, spinning to face him.
    Her outburst stunned him. Hands settled on slim hips as she glared lavender daggers at him. “And what good could you have done?” he retorted. “You can walk but little.”
    “I would not need to walk,” she answered tightly, as if he had insulted her. “I would have been on a horse. I would have used a short bow or sword just as easily astride as afoot.”
    She glanced at Conor, and he was surprised to see tears glittering behind her lashes. “I promised your people vengeance. Why have you denied me?”
    What a strange, fascinating female! Disappointed because she wasn’t able to go off and kill.
    “The outlaws we attacked were hidden in the mountains,” Conor explained. “To exact your revenge, you would have to be well healed. Some of those passes are dangerous, even for men who have ridden them all their lives. You would not have been able to fight if you were not able to keep up.”
    Erika’s belligerent stance relaxed, though her eyes were still reproachful. “I am Viking. We take revenge very seriously.”
    “I believe you.”
    “I want to know what happened. You will tell me every detail. Now.”
    The command in her voice amused him, and he saw no reason to rebuke her for it. “May I remove the collar first?”
    She acquiesced, and he stepped behind her again. After he removed the heavy iron collar she stepped away from him, her hands clasping her bruised neck as she sighed in relief. He set the ugly circlet on the nearby table, disgusted with himself for leaving her shackled, causing her further injury. There would be no way to hide the unsightly gouges from her brother. If the Northman possessed even a portion of his sister’s temper, Conor would be hard-pressed to quench it.
    He began giving her an edited version of the battle until she demanded a blow-by-blow accounting. Every bashing and thrust and kill she wanted to know. He gave in, telling the tale as he would with his men ’round a campfire, leaving nothing out. She enjoyed every bit of it, causing him to enjoy it as well.
    Satisfied, she sat in the chair, her movements slow. “It is just as well that I did not accompany you. You are correct in saying that I am not quite ready for combat.” It seemed to rankle her to make that admission.
    Conor knelt before her to remove the leg shackles, attempting with little success to avoid staring at the slender columns of her legs. She was near to fleeing his touch, like a nervous colt. He could not blame her for that—had she been privy to his thoughts, she would be bolting for the door.
    The largeness of her frame extended to her feet, but they were thin and shapely, and seemed fragile inside the cumbersome metal. She gasped when he lifted her foot, grasping her knees together with linked hands. He respected her privacy, but it was a near thing. How simple it would’ve been to allow his hand to glide upward, to seek out the mystery she hid behind her knees. And perhaps he would reach it before she attempted to wring his neck.
    He made quick work of the leg irons then sat back on his haunches, staring at the woman too desirable for her own good—or his. “I am glad to hear you admit you are not ready for combat. It means you are human after all.” He placed amusement in his tone, knowing she would be offended.
    The ploy worked. The silver head rose as she once again fixed him with a glare. “Are you mocking me, Devil?” Her voice was dangerously soft as her hand unconsciously strayed to her hip where the pommel of her sword would lie.
    A lesser man would have taken her