Vanquished by the Viking by Joanne Rock Page A

sure if that was meant as some kind of joke. His eyes held hers, and although she could not make out the color in the moonlight, she knew they were ice-blue. The maids in her father’s keep had argued over who would be first to bed him and it had surprised her that she found herself hoping he would not touch any of them. There was something compelling about Reinn Geirsson, even if he had helped conquer her people.
    “Protection?” A sharp laugh rooted in hysteria burst from her lips as a sea breeze slapped her wet skirts against her legs. “Your brutish leader is reputed to use his wives so harshly they do not even care that he takes a new bride in every invasion.”
    She studied the tall, loose-limbed warrior, hoping she had chosen her savior well. As much as it galled her to entrust herself to any of the invaders, she had witnessed his mercy in battle from her perch high up on a parapet three days ago. He had released a boy—one of the villager’s sons—who had taken up arms against him. Even her own father would have never shown such a kindness to an enemy.
    Later, after the Norsemen had subjugated her father’s people, Eva had the chance to learn the identity of the merciful swordsman. Reinn Geirsson was the brother of the Gunnar, the powerful barbarian nobleman who had chosen to invade Madoc of Anglesey’s coastal stronghold. Reinn had sat silently at his brother’s side when Eva’s father had negotiated her hand to Gunnar in marriage. And while the blond beast Gunnar had watched her with greedy lust, raven-haired Reinn had eyed her with curiosity. Perhaps even—she had hoped—a hint of compassion. She had gambled everything tonight on that gut instinct. When her maid had overheard Reinn would depart this morn, Eva had slept in one of his boats to be sure she did not miss his departure.
    “The rumors of my brother’s wickedness are exaggerated to build his fearsome reputation,” the Norseman explained, lowering the hands he’d formerly held aloft.
    “If you reach for a weapon, I will let this arrow fly,” she warned, her arm aching with the effort of keeping the bowstring taut.
    The whipping wind stung her cheeks and made her eyes water. Or perhaps there were tears on her face. They were common enough after she’d lost her sovereignty and her home to the invaders. Casualties had been few, but only because her heartless father had quickly promised her hand to a warrior who fought like the devil’s spawn and had robbed her mother’s shrine in the family chapel.
    “My weapons are all in the boat,” Reinn assured her. “I vow not to touch them, but I am getting into the vessel now, and you must return to the safety of your chamber.”
    Her chest squeezed tight as he lifted a dripping boot and hooked it over the side of the boat. She could not let him leave without her.
    “Nay!” she cried, dropping the crossbow to run across the slippery rocks that separated them. “Do not!”
    One moment she was running and the next her foot went out from under her. She sailed through the air to land in a heap on the beach, her cheek splashing into the surf. Grit and muck weighed her down, but she attempted to rise. She reached a hand toward the wooden vessel as he reached for the oars.
    “Curse you, Norns!” he shouted, shaking a fist at the sky.
    She winced, not from his shout but from the pain in her knee as she tried to stand.
    “You are the one who deserves the cursing,” she muttered, swiping wet sand from one cheek. “I thought you were a man of mercy.”
    He stood back in the water, no longer in his boat. Only then did she realize he hadn’t been able to push the craft out to sea with his weight in it, the bow pushed into the shore. Thank the saints. There was still a chance she could escape the keep with him. She had to believe a warrior who did not kill an armed boy would never harm a defenseless woman.
    “Why did you follow me?” he shouted, his frustration evident. He seemed angry, but she did