The Chieftain's Bride

THE CHIEFTAIN'S BRIDE By

Kate Hill

© copyright by Kate Hill, April 2005 Cover Art by Eliza Black, © copyright April 2005 ISBN 1-58608-525-5 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Northumbria, 1063

"But I don't want to marry another." Marion took her husband's cold hand and touched her lips to the back of it in an uncharacteristic display of affection. Theirs had not been a love match, but she had developed feelings for the aging warrior during their five-year marriage. She'd just turned eighteen when the King had awarded Raynor the village of Ravenhill on the eastern boarder of Northumbria. In return, Raynor had kept the coast safe from raiders and Norse marauders who still haunted the neighboring Scottish shores. His defense of the very land he had once preyed upon had been a source of many arguments between Marion and Raynor. "The King has already agreed that you and Ravenhill will belong to my cousin Wyborn. He will keep our village safe and prosperous. He will not abuse you." "I'm not worried about myself." She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. Wyborn, the last of the Norse conquerors, held property in Scotland and his homeland. Marion had no desire to wed him. "I'm not ignorant of the stories about your cousin. He's a monster. He's--"

"If Wyborn is not given this land, he'll come and take it. Only his devotion to me stopped him from raiding these shores long ago. At least this way, none of what we've worked for will be destroyed. You and our people will be protected." Marion turned for a moment to stir the mixture of herbs in the black pot hanging over the fire. The strong scent permeated the room, but over the past few days, the herbs had eased Raynor's troubled breathing. The pungent odor clung to Marion's clothes and hair in spite of how she scrubbed herself daily. "But I could rule. I still have your warriors to serve as a defense, and I know how to keep our land prospering. You know that I've provided you with advice that has saved, even earned, you gold." Raynor smiled, his withered hand clutching hers weakly. He had been more like a father to her than a husband. When they'd met, he had never spoken of it, but she knew by his avoidance of the marriage bed that he had lost his ability to enjoy women long ago. She had respected him enough to ignore the condition, not that she any desire to consummate their marriage in the first place. Wyborn would be another matter. Though his cousin had been little more than a boy when they'd last met, stories of Wyborn's prowess filled Raynor with pride and hope.

"Wyborn is a fine man and Marion a good woman. No longer the willful child I wed, she will perform her duties toward him." Marion didn't respond, as she knew from the blank look in his eyes and the softness of his murmurings that he was no longer conscious of her. Still, his next words struck a chord of fear inside her. "I pray that Wyborn will appreciate the woman he has been promised as well as the land he has been given." The old warrior's voice faded and his breathing ceased. "Raynor?" Marion whispered, tears streaking her face as she lowered her forehead to her husband's still chest. "Oh, God, Raynor, what sort of a curse have you brought upon us?" "My lady?" Marion wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and glanced up at the tall, slim boy with a reddish beard. In spite of his rugged appearance that made him appear like an experienced man, his blue eyes belied his youth. "Stig, he's dead, and for us this is only the beginning." "Raynor and the King sent word of his illness to Wyborn months ago. I'm sure he'll be arriving any day to take what has been promised him."

"Raynor may have been willing to surrender our land to his boar of a cousin, but I'm not so eager to see our home ruined. Wyborn will take what's his. The King wills it. We have no way of stopping it, but should Wyborn not be as worthy as Raynor believed, we will stop him." "He's a skilled warrior and a sharp-witted man. What we've been planning is risky, my lady." "One way or the other, I will be prepared for him. Already I'm as accurate with throwing a dagger as you are, and our training with the bow and arrow is coming along quickly." Stig closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer. "If anyone knew what I've been teaching you, they'd lock us both away for madness." "I'd rather be a madwoman than the wife of an ogre." Marion stood and touched Stig's forearm. The youth's eyes snapped open and he gazed at her. Since the moment they met, Stig had been her most faithful friend. She knew he wanted a deeper relationship with her, but he was too considerate to press the issue. Still, he had never been able to deny her anything she asked for, though he'd tried when she'd come to him months

ago with the insane idea of learning a warrior's ways. Stig finally relented and coached her on how to throw daggers and fire a bow and arrow, all the while complaining that if Raynor ever discovered what he was teaching his soft, gentle wife, he would have his head chopped off. "We have to inform the others and prepare for the funeral," Marion said, casting one last, sad look at Raynor before following Stig out of the chamber.

****

Draped in a somber black tunic, Marion stood beside Stig and stared at Raynor's grave. Around them, servants, villagers, and warriors assembled to pay their respects to their fallen leader. Marion sensed genuine sorrow from all of them, for in spite of his brusque nature, Raynor had been a good, fair man. Only in the eyes of one person did she notice a brilliance borne of greed. Bodin had been Raynor's strongest swordsman and a favored warrior. Still, the man had always been the first to rebel against Raynor's orders. Though he inevitably bowed to the older man because Raynor was so revered by his other warriors that any slight to him

was grounds for battle. Now Raynor was dead and there was no one to stop Bodin from freely admitting what he wanted. At the feast following Raynor's funeral, the battle-scarred, red-headed warrior would no longer curb his tongue or disguise his desires.

****

"Raynor is dead, which leaves us without leadership." Bodin stood in the smoky hall that smelled of burned meat and strong wine. The people seated at long wooden tables drank from carved mugs and gobbled from trays laden with meat, bread, and fruit. They paused in their eating to glance at him. "Wyborn is coming," said Stefan, a warrior seated at Marion's left side. "The King is recognizing him." "Should we give everything we've worked for to Wyborn? What does Wyborn know of our life here? What does Wyborn care?" Questioning murmurs echoed through the hall. Marion

and Stig exchanged nervous glances. "For years we have defended this coastline against the likes of Wyborn," Bodin sneered the warrior's name. "There is no reason we should surrender to him." "Wyborn has never been driven from land he intends to conquer," Stig said. "If we fight him, we could destroy ourselves and incite the King's wrath." "No. If we drive Wyborn off, the King will bestow leadership on one of us. Nothing will change." "And to whom will this leadership go?" Marion asked in a soft yet unwavering voice. "I was Raynor's second in command. That is known. And since I'm the one who has voiced this plan, it's safe to say that I will lead us into battle. After we've won, I will go to the King with our demands." "No. I do not agree to this. Raynor was my husband. Until Wyborn arrives, this land is my responsibility. I will not allow us to go into battle." The room fell silent as Bodin and Marion glared at one another across the table. "I respect your wishes, my lady, but I think everyone

here will agree that living under Wyborn's rule will not benefit us. I've seen his work firsthand. I've seen fields run red with blood, heard the cries of women and children, and seen men slaughtered by his sword. I was born and raised in among Danes. There is little that shocks me, my lady, but Wyborn has the strength and temper of the god Thor and a heart of ice. If Wyborn comes here, life as we know it will end. One way or another, people will die, so I say we die fighting!" Warriors stood and raised their cups, shouting with the thrill of oncoming battle. It had been a long time since they'd met a true challenge, and Bodin's words reached the love of glory in their hearts. Only Stig and a handful of other warriors remained seated and silent with Marion. That night as she retired to her chamber, Marion's head pounded with anguish. It was bad enough that she might have to deal with Wyborn, now Bodin threatened her as well. From the moment she had met the tall, red-headed warrior, she had disliked him. She hated the way he had confronted Raynor, then feigned loyalty. She hated how he leered at her when no one else was looking, and she hated the contempt with which he treated anyone of lower rank than himself. She would rather see their village destroyed by Wyborn than be at the mercy of Bodin.

"You should invite me in now, because soon we'll be sharing this chamber," Bodin said from behind Marion, causing her to jump. He placed one of his heavy hands on her back and she moved away in disgust. "Don't ever touch me. You might have everyone else fooled, Bodin, but I know what you really are." "Then you know how much I've always wanted you, Marion." His savage tone and look were at odds with his complimentary words. When he grasped her shoulders, her hand slipped into the folds of her skirt, her fingertips touching the smooth handle of the dagger she'd hidden there. Though her heart pounded, she lifted her chin and met his gaze with confidence. "Are you certain you want to attempt this without ensuring your position?" He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?" "You're assuming that if you fight Wyborn, you'll win. But what if you don't?" "I will." "Say by the slim chance you lose, difficult to imagine for such a powerful man as yourself." She wondered if

he was intelligent enough to note the sarcasm in her voice. "Nevertheless, it is a possibility. If what you say about Wyborn is true, he might be a upset to think that you defiled his promised bride." "He won't care. You'll be just another slut to him. Women aren't something to hold grudges over." "Let's hope that Wyborn feels the same. He might want to be the first to sample his goods, so to speak." She saw hesitation in Bodin's eyes and pressed her advantage. "Why take such a risk? If you drive Wyborn off, then most likely I'll belong to you. I'll go to you willingly." Marion clutched the dagger tighter. Only after I geld you. "Be glad I'm in a kind mood tonight, my lady." Bodin lifted a tendril of Marion's brown hair and bent to kiss her mouth. She turned her face away so that his wet lips brushed her ear. "Raynor was old, so I know you've never had a real man. Prepare yourself for our wedding night."

****

To Marion, the next few days passed like the evil prelude to a nightmare. While Bodin convinced most of Raynor's warriors to prepare for battle with Wyborn, the four who remained loyal to Marion made their own plans with her. Her allies were Stig, Stefan, an older man called Erik who had once sailed with Wyborn's father, and Erik's son Olav. Each night after dark, the five of them met in Raynor's old chamber. Stefan and Olav pretended to listen to Bodin and carried any information they learned to Marion and the others. On the third night, which was to be their last secret meeting, Marion sat at the round wooden table by the window. Stig, Olav, and Stefan gathered around her and Erik stood behind her like an enormous gray bear. "If Wyborn comes, it won't matter to him if we're with Bodin or not. He'll see nearly every man in this settlement charging his party with swords and there will be a bloodbath," Olav said. "If he's anything like his father was, there won't be a settlement left, should Bodin be stupid enough to attack." Erik added. "Then one of us must meet him before he arrives and tell him what Bodin is planning." Stefan's gaze swept his companions. "And pray that he listens before he kills."

"He'll listen," Marion said. "He has to. Raynor said he could be a fair man. He trusted him, and for now, so must we. So who will go?" The men looked at one another, but Erik was the first to speak. "I knew his father. He'll recognize me." "I'll go with you, Father." Erik shook his head. "No, Olav. The three of you must stay close by Marion and see that she's protected." Stig glanced at Marion and smiled slightly, affectionately. "No matter what happens, you will be safe, my lady." "My concern isn't for myself, but for all of you and our common folk. We haven't seen battle since Raynor lead us. I've watched too many people suffer and die. I don't want that to happen to us again." She gazed at each of her friends before they left the room in silence. Once she was alone, Marion sank to her knees before the wooden crucifix hanging on her wall, the one her parents had given her shortly before they'd been killed during a raid in Scotland years ago. She prayed for peace and the strength to fight if she was forced to.

****

Wyborn the Indomitable stood on the bow of his ship and squinted toward the misty shoreline. He hadn't been to Northumbria since he was a boy on a raid with his father. It had been his first true fight, the first time he'd sliced flesh with his blade, the first time he'd felt his blood run hot and free from a serious wound. Wyborn had been a tall, strong youth who appeared older than his twelve years. Both he and his father had eagerly awaited the battle. What a disappointment it had been when Wyborn's chest had been sliced halfway through the fight. He scarcely made it back to the ship and had been ill with a fever for weeks. His broad chest still bore the faintest scar. Compared to the many thicker, jagged scars he bore, it was scarcely worth noticing, yet it was the one he remembered most clearly. He'd learned quickly about the brutality of life. The years had molded the naive child who charged into his first battle seeking glory into a man who defined glory to his people. Years of training with heavy weapons, riding, and sailing had provided Wyborn with a body as hard and defined as an arctic glacier. In spite of his physical attributes, Wyborn was intelligent enough to

know that brute strength might make a warrior, but not a leader. He strove for complete power of mind and body. In silence, he had listened to masters of strategy and absorbed all they told him. He observed his friends and his enemies. Nothing escaped his shrewd eyes, and he was not above admitting his own ignorance to learn from someone more knowledgeable and experienced. His closest companions often teased him for being too silent and serious, yet they never pushed him very far. In spite of his lenience for those he liked or admired, everyone knew of his ruthlessness when he was provoked. "So what do you think this bride of yours will be like?" Kell, Wyborn's closest friend, shoved his straggly auburn hair from his face and looked at his leader. "Short and scrawny like her male counterparts?" Wyborn's gaze didn't move from the shoreline. "We'll find out when we see her." "I can't believe you're going to settle here. Do you know how bored you'll be? You'll have to send for Hallye for diversion." At the mention of the woman from his village who had been chasing him since childhood, Wyborn's annoyed gaze shifted to Kell. "If you ever bring that woman here, I'll cut your sword arm off at the shoulder. Mark

me." "After you get a look at this other woman, you might be wishing for Hallye." "Hey, what's he doing?" A warrior several feet from Kell pointed to a small, one-man boat approaching their fleet. The man on board was tall and thickly built. His gray hair hung in a wild tail over his broad shoulders. Several archers raised their weapons, but Wyborn held up his hand for them to hold their fire. "Wyborn!" called the man on the ship. "I must talk with you. It's me, Erik." Wyborn's solemn lips curved upward in the slightest smile as he recognized the gravely voice and scarred face of his father's oldest friend. "Get him," Wyborn ordered Kell. Within moments, Wyborn and Erik stood in relative privacy. The wind blew froth from the churning waves onto their faces while Erik described the violent welcome awaiting Wyborn's army. When the older man finished, he stared intently at the warrior chief, awaiting his reaction.

Finally Wyborn said, "I appreciate your loyalty, but I'm not a fool. I was expecting rebellion. My men are prepared to take the shore in full armor with weapons ready. I have another troop coming by land from the opposite side. We've gauged everything so that both parties will arrive at the same time. Your settlement will be surrounded. If Bodin has as much brains as he has nerve, he'll surrender." "What about the ones who've followed him? Not all of them are bad men." "They need leadership. Believe me, they'll have it." Erik watched Wyborn carefully. "I didn't only come here out of respect for you, but also for the Lady Marion." "What of her?" "She's a good woman. She's intelligent and strong. She deserves to be treated well." Wyborn nodded. Though he didn't need anyone telling him how to care for his new bride, he sensed that Erik had respect and affection for the woman. For the rough, old warrior to speak so highly of her said much about her character. For the first time he felt the kindling of genuine interest in meeting the Lady Marion.

Chapter Two

Wyborn's booted feet landed with a splash in the cold water along the shoreline. He grasped the bridle of his chestnut stallion and led the shaggy animal to shore. His men presented a ferocious picture clad in their battle-mail, but Wyborn stood out amongst them. He was at least a head taller than the rest, except for Erik and a lanky youth named Leif. Beneath a bronze helmet, his long, wild, ash-blond hair snapped in the strong sea wind. His broad shoulders and chest were covered in chain mail and his breeches, damp from the splashing water, clung to the muscular length of his legs. With his broadsword sheathed on his back, he mounted his horse and ordered his men to follow him. Though the group rode calmly, they were aware of the

impending attack and were prepared when the first arrows sailed through the air. Their horses started and several men were injured, but Wyborn's archers returned fire before the rush of Bodin's warriors galloped at them from the distant trees. In spite of years of experience, Wyborn felt a thrill course through him at the first clash of steel. In the rush, he knocked an oncoming warrior from his mount. His men outnumbered Bodin's warriors and Wyborn guessed that his second party had already reached the settlement. Smashing another man onto the rocky ground, he rode toward the village. As he guessed, his second infantry was already engaged in battle. He had the advantage, yet he felt no gladness as he watched the men hacking at each other while frightened villagers screamed for their children and ran. Didn't Bodin have enough intelligence to hide those who needed the most protection? Wyborn dismounted with surprising grace for such a large man in battle armor. No sooner had his feet touched the dewy grass than three men surrounded him, bellowing as they raced at him with their bloody swords. While he blocked and cut down two, the third managed to slice the unprotected area between his shoulder and biceps. He scarcely noticed the injury, but turned and almost completely severed the man's hand from his wrist. The man's scream mingled with the

others echoing through the village. Wyborn kicked aside one of the other fallen swordsman who was crawling toward him with a dagger in his hand and fury in his eyes. The man landed face down in a patch of mud. Wyborn glanced around the village, noticing several thatched cottages, barns, and a manor house. Leif and several of his men were entering the manor through the tall wooden doors. He followed. Now that the settlement was his, he wanted a look at his intended wife.

****

Marion stood in the great hall dressed in a flowing cotton shirt and leather breeches, men's attire that she had made in case such a dreaded situation arose. Across her chest was a specially made strap that held several daggers. In spite of her outwardly calm appearance, her heart beat violently and she willed her hands not to tremble. The sounds of battle raged outside the walls of the manor house. Glancing through a crack in one of the

boarded up windows, she saw Bodin's men fighting a small army of Norse warriors. She noted that they hadn't come from the shore, but rather across the land. Olav gripped his sword tightly. "Wyborn is as shrewd as his legend claims." He and the other two poised for battle, their gazes fixed on the door. Marion knew that they would have preferred to be outside amidst the action, but they had sworn to protect her and she was grateful for their loyalty. She nearly screamed when the door burst off its hinges and several men covered in dented, bloody armor, matted cloaks, and rounded helmets strode into the hall. Immediately, Stig, Olav, and Stefan attacked them, but they were greatly outnumbered. Thrown by one of their enemies, Olav crashed onto a long banquet table. He fell unconscious amidst the splintered wood. Stefan and Stig battled two men each. Three more caught sight of Marion and moved toward her. She slipped a dagger from a sheath and flung it at the first man, striking him in the neck. Howling with pain, he clutched his throat. She withdrew another and let it fly. Her practiced aim was true and she struck the warrior in his shoulder joint where the armor couldn't protect him. Narrowing her eyes to take aim at the third man, she suddenly faltered. A tall, particularly savage-looking warrior filled the

doorway, blocking out the light shining in from the sunny morning outside. Though she couldn't see much of his face through the shadow of his helmet and a layer of blood and dirt, his eyes stared at her like dark jewels beneath wickedly arched brows. She flung the dagger at the brute and he turned slightly so the blade soared passed him. Before she could reach for another, one of the warriors lunged at her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and jerking her head back so hard that she thought her neck would snap. His free hand ripped the strap of daggers from her shoulder. "Let's have some of that fury where it feels good, wench," Marion's captor sneered, twisting her arms behind her back and slamming her face first on another wooden table. His knee shoved her legs apart and she struggled, overcome by anger and fear. Suddenly she was free. She turned and saw the beast from the doorway fling her attacker against the wall. "I told you on the ship, Leif, none of that," snarled the beast, his voice a deep echo in the now silent hall. Marion glanced around, noting with relief that Stig and Stefan, though held at sword point on the floor, didn't seem to be seriously hurt. "We're to take what's mine, not destroy it."

Marion's eyes widened. So this was Wyborn the Indomitable, the man she'd dreaded. The man she'd wished for over Bodin. He turned his fathomless gaze to her. Beneath the blood and filth, his features were rough but handsome. "Tell me where to find her." Marion blinked. He'd said something to her, but she'd been so consumed with discerning the face beneath the gore that she hadn't heard a word. "Find who?" She groped the table behind her, searching for the daggers that the man Leif had tossed aside. "Lady Marion. I want to see her. Now." Marion lifted her chin and drew herself up to her full height. Not that it mattered, since she was just about level with his chest. Why did he have to be so bloody big? "I'm sure she has no desire to see you." "I don't care if she wants to see me or not. We have business to discuss. Now tell me where she is." Marion's deft fingers slipped a knife from its sheath and she lunged at him with a shriek of fury. Wyborn

was quicker. His gloved hand grasped her wrist and shook the knife from her grip. He dragged her so close to his body that blood from his mail-covered chest smeared her cheek. With a bellow of rage, Stig leapt, his hands reaching for Wyborn's throat. The warrior chief, still holding Marion with one arm, slammed the back of his fist into Stig's face. The youth crashed to the floor, blood streaming from his mouth. "You heathen bastard!" Marion snarled, squirming from his grip and kneeling beside Stig. "He was only trying to protect me, you bloodthirsty ox! Before you do any more damage, I am Marion!" One of Wyborn's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "You're not what I expected." "Well you're everything I expected! You disgusting, filthy, violent...." Several of Wyborn's men laughed. To further increase her fury, he smiled as well. An auburn-haired man stepped through the door and all humor faded from Wyborn's face. "Is the village secured, Kell?" "Yes."

"Bodin?" "He's nowhere to be found." "For a man who caused so much trouble, he's quite a coward. If Bodin shows his face anywhere near this settlement again, kill him on sight, no questions asked. For now, see to the wounded. Once that's taken care of, assemble everyone outside." Kell nodded and left, followed by the others. As Leif passed Wyborn, he kept his gaze cast down, Wyborn grasped his arm and nodded in Marion's direction. "Apologize to her." "I'm sorry, Lady Marion. I didn't know who you were." "That's not the point, Leif." Wyborn's face remained calm, but his eyes shot a look of death at the younger warrior. "You were given an order. This isn't some one-day raid. This is our land and our people. We're here to protect them, not violate the women and kill the men." "I know that. It won't happen again." Still crouching on the floor, Marion stared up at Wyborn, apprehension filling her soul. He extended a leather-gloved hand to her. Hesitantly, she took it.

"Show me my room. We have to talk." Marion glanced at her hand swallowed by his larger one and was shocked that except for the roughness of his glove, she could scarcely feel his touch. It amazed her that a man like him was capable of any kind of gentleness. Slowly, she withdrew from his grasp, her heart pounding as she led him up the creaky wooden steps. She opened a door to a spacious room that had a fireplace with an animal-skin rug and two high-backed chairs in front of it. On the opposite wall stood a bed, an oak trunk, and a small, round table with two chairs. "This room was Raynor's. I suppose it's yours now." Wyborn didn't speak right away, but walked to the slim, rectangular window on the farthest wall and glanced out. "You cared for your husband?" His question was softly spoken and unexpected. Marion stared at him, trying to catch his gaze to see if his eyes were truly such a dark, lovely blue, or if she had merely imagined them.

"He was a good man." Wyborn turned in her direction. Her stomach tightened when she realized that his eyes were even more beautiful than she'd originally thought. "Yes, I cared for him." "Then I'm sorry for your loss." Again his words surprised her. "You needn't worry about your safety or the safety of your people. There will be changes, but only for the better." "You haven't even been here a day. How do you know what changes will be for the better?" "Some faults are obvious, others will reveal themselves in time." "I can't believe I'm going to have to go through this again." She folded her arms across her chest. "What is it with you Norsemen? Are all of you so arrogant?" "Arrogant?" Not a muscle moved in his face, but genuine shock shone in his eyes. "I'm only trying to let you know that you needn't fear me."

Her fists clenched. "Fear you? I assure you I'm not in the least bit afraid of you. My only concern is that you will harm my people." The slightest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His gaze swept her in a manner that made her want to squirm. Damn him! It was as if his eyes could see straight to her soul. "I didn't think women here used weapons. Who taught you? Surely not Raynor." "I didn't expect you to approve of a woman being able to defend herself." "I didn't say--" "You didn't have to. I know how you think." "So you're an oracle too?" His tone was sarcastic. "Just because the King has ordered me to marry you, doesn't mean I have to like it." "As you said, I haven't even been here one day. How do you know if you'll like being married to me or not?" She was about to argue, then changed her mind. Folding her arms across her chest, she studied every

inch of his mail-and-leather-clad body, wondering if he was as big and exquisitely proportioned as she imagined beneath his armor. One thing was certain, he was filthy, whether it was from the recent skirmish or not, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that it had taken years for her to make Raynor understand the value of cleanliness, and they had never even lain together as man and woman. She was certain Wyborn would expect her to perform her wifely duties. A man like him must have the virility of a herd of stallions. Of course she would do her best to keep him at bay, but if worse came to worst and she had to make love with him, she wanted him clean. She shook her head slightly when she realized that her heartbeat quickened at the thought of him taking her in his arms and claiming her body. Would he touch her with the same gentleness as when he'd taken her hand, or would he be rough and ferocious? Would his sapphire eyes become even darker with passion? Did his solemn mouth feel as tender as it looked? "How could any decent woman like being married to you? Not only are you far too tall, but you're filthy, violent, self-important, and a heathen." "You're sure you haven't forgotten any of my attributes?" "And you're sarcastic. Another thing--" She stopped

mid-sentence, noticing for the first time that some of the blood on his sleeve was running fresh and not merely stains on his armor. "You've been hurt?" He glanced at his arm. "Just a scratch." Stepping closer, she inspected the wound. "You could die of infection from a scratch like this. I'm a skilled healer. Take off your shirt." "Healer, warrior. Do you have any other secrets I should know about?" "I imagine you'll find out." Smiling slightly, she left the chamber to retrieve bandages, a needle, and thread. While Marion gathered her healing tools, she ordered a servant to bring heated water to Wyborn's chamber. When she opened the door, she nearly lost her grip on the leather bag she carried. Wyborn sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, his armor arranged on the bed. She thought the bulky chain mail had enhanced his virility, but if possible, he was even more magnificent out of it. His cream-colored cotton shirt clung with sweat and blood to his well muscled body. The throat was open in a v-shape and crossed with unraveled cotton ties, exposing his broad, hard chest. Matted tendrils of

ash-blond hair grabbed at his shoulders and brushed his back. Never in her life had she seen such a beautiful man. The sight of him weakened her legs and sent her heart racing out of control. Cursing her attraction to him, she approached. He had been inspecting his sword, but suddenly turned his blade-sharp gaze to her. Marion cleared her throat and knelt beside him, taking a close look at his injury. The bloody sleeve was rolled up to his shoulder, exposing an oozing slice in his upper arm. She dipped a piece of cloth in the bowl of warm water beside his seat and began cleansing the wound. "When I'm done with you, I'll go help the others. I'm sure your men did plenty of damage." "No more than Bodin's, but it doesn't matter. They're all mine now." She shook her head at his words, biting back a retort since she was too busy concentrating on his arm. Though wary of him and his intentions, she touched him gently, knowing that such a wound must be painful in spite of how indifferent he seemed to be. After bathing away the blood, she threaded a needle and began stitching his flesh.

"Am I hurting you?" She tried to sound disinterested. He shook his head and smiled. "I said it was just a scratch." "Some of the servants saw you sever the hand of the man who did this to you. He's dead." "He shouldn't have attacked me." "He was our best swordsman." Wyborn lifted an eyebrow. "That's good to know. I thought I was losing my skills." "Losing your.... They said three men attacked you at once." He shrugged. "That's battle. You should know. You fought off three of my men yourself." "I was throwing knives from a distance." She finished stitching, then bound his arm with another strip of cloth. Even after her work was done, she remained kneeling beside his chair unconsciously resting her hand on his forearm. His skin was warm, roughened by a sparse covering of blond hair. The muscles beneath it were hard from years of carrying his enormous sword.

She glanced at the blade resting against the chair beside him. Her hand moved from him to touch the sword handle. The steel was molded into ridges, and even though it was dirty with blood and earth, she noted the sharpness of the blade. She had often wondered what it felt like to control such a weapon. Her hand curved around the handle and she met his gaze. "May I?" He didn't smile, but she sensed his amusement. "By all means." Marion was not a weak woman, but even using both hands, she could scarcely lift the weapon. Grudgingly, she had to admit that she respected the strength of warriors like Wyborn who were able to wield such blades with speed and agility. Standing, he took the weapon from her and held it up, his gaze focused on its tip. "I'll get you a smaller one." "You will?" "Why not?" "Aren't you afraid I'll try to use it against you?" He tossed her a look that expressed exactly how much

she intimidated him. Angered by his arrogance, she glared at him. "You think I couldn't learn how to use a sword?" "If I didn't think you could, I wouldn't offer you one. I have to get back outside. Come with me. The wounded need your skills." He was right. People were suffering while she ogled a blond barbarian. Marion cleaned and replaced the needle and slung her leather bag over her shoulder before following him to the great hall.

****

For the next several hours, Marion pushed thoughts of Wyborn and the fate of her people to the back of her mind and concentrated on tending the wounded. She stitched and cauterized injuries, removed arrowheads, and set broken bones. Stig approached her while she was stitching a gash in a man's leg. "Did he harm you?" The youth glared at Wyborn who squatted a short distance from them, restraining a man

while another wrenched free an arrow embedded in his shoulder. Marion noted that while Wyborn wore his position with arrogance, he wasn't above assisting in lowly tasks when help was needed. She desperately wanted to hate him, but found that she couldn't. "No, he didn't hurt me." Stig touched his knuckles to his swollen mouth. "It's a wonder he didn't try to kill me." "I don't think he has an interest in killing us." "You trust him?" "Not yet, but according to the King, we must accept him. Perhaps we should give him a chance before we rebel." "I doubt he'll give us a choice." Marion glanced up from her work and noticed Wyborn staring at her and Stig. She looked back down to the leg she had started to bandage and said, "Will you bring me some fresh water?" To Marion's relief, Stig left immediately. If Wyborn had floored Stig with his fist, she hated to think what would happen if he suspected an affair between her and

the young warrior. It was late afternoon when every able person gathered outside the manor house. Marion, her clothes now as bloody as the warriors', stood in the row closest to Wyborn who had moved to the front of the crowd. Tall and strong, his ragged mass of hair snapping in the breeze, he was an intimidating figure. To Marion, he was something wild, a forbidden temptation, a creature who, like a wolf, could be both violent and gentle. "For any of you who don't know, I'm Wyborn. From this moment on, you will look to me for everything." Anger suddenly replaced her attraction to him. The man was arrogant beyond belief. "Your attack this morning was expected. My men were given orders to kill as few of you as possible. I have never given such an order before and I never will again. From here on out, any one of you who acts against us will be killed." Marion bit down on her tongue to keep from shouting her disapproval. Inciting an argument against him would create unrest and though she hated to admit it, she knew he had to establish control from the beginning.

"I have not come to disrupt your lives, but to enrich them. You will learn much, but I'm sure I will as well. I promise you protection and prosperity. In return, I demand your cooperation." Stefan said, "It is rumored that you'll be marrying Lady Marion." "One of your priests will be arriving tomorrow. We'll be married by sunset." Marion drew a sharp breath, her gaze meeting Wyborn's. She hadn't expected him to act so quickly. Marrying her so soon after Raynor's death seemed improper, but she noticed that Wyborn was not a man to waste time on propriety. He wanted immediate control over her and Ravenhill. He dismissed the people by stepping inside. Stig, Olav, and Erik approached Marion. "I can't believe him!" Stig snarled. "Raynor hasn't even been dead a month, and he wants to wed you." "Most likely he wants to bed her," Olav muttered. Erik elbowed his son in the stomach so hard that Olav doubled over. "Speak to Marion with the respect she's

due, boy! And as for Wyborn marrying her, it's his affair. She has been promised to him, and I understand that he's trying to create unity. We all know that Raynor hadn't been himself for the last months of his life and this land has been neglected. We're in need of strong leadership here." "It looks like we've got it." Marion clenched her teeth. "I only hope his actions are as fair as his words." "I don't like him." "Doesn't much matter if any of us like him, Stig," Erik said. "He's here to stay and the three of you better make the best of it, or you'll answer to me." "They won't have the chance." Marion huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Wyborn will probably lop their heads off." "Enough chatting like a bunch of kitchen maids," Olav said. "It will be dark soon and there's still work to do." Marion walked slowly to her room, glad that Wyborn was nowhere to be found. She needed time alone. In her chamber, she dumped her bag of healing tools on a chair by the hearth, stripped off her bloody clothes and burned them, hoping that some of her fear and anger would dissipate with the rising smoke.

She slipped into a coarse wool robe and stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes and attempting to relax every tired muscle. Tomorrow she and Wyborn would wed. And bed, she thought, remembering Olav's words. She'd never been with a man and was curious what it would be like. From some women, she'd heard stories of paradise, from others, tales of hell. Wyborn was so big and she wondered if other parts of him were as formidable. She recalled the gentleness with which he had held her hand earlier. While they'd been tending the wounded she had overheard him express concern for the villagers who had been left unprotected during Bodin's attempted rebellion. Wyborn didn't appear to be the sort of man who derived pleasure from tormenting those weaker than himself, so she really had little fear of the marriage bed. Her heart fluttered a bit at the thought of touching him intimately. "Damn you to hell, Marion! Are you so ready to place your desires above the needs of your people?" She pushed herself off the bed. Did she want to trust Wyborn because she really believed he was worthy of that trust, or because she couldn't wait for them to copulate like a couple of animals? Though tired from the physical and emotional exertions of the day, she was too anxious to sleep. She slipped a dress over her head, bundled herself in a robe,

and left the house. Partway into the woods behind the settlement there was a special clearing where she often went to think and relax. The moon was nearly full and shone through the trees, creating shimmering dapples on the water. She shrugged off the robe, slid the dress sleeves down her arms, and let the thin article fall to a pool at her feet. Naked, she waded into the water, ducking under to wet her hair. Floating on her back, she gazed at the stars. In spite of the peaceful night, she was suddenly gripped by the strangest feeling that she was not alone. Her heart pounding, she stood and folded her arms over her breasts. On the far side of the river, in the shadow of a low-hanging branch, stood the tall figure of a powerfully muscled man. Waist deep in water, he moved forward. Moonlight streaked Wyborn's wet, ash-colored hair. Rivulets of water streamed down his sculpted torso. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "I should ask you the same thing. Why are you here alone and naked? Have you no sense of danger? Bodin could still be lurking around." A shiver crept up her spine. She hadn't thought of that. He stepped toward her, and she backed away, her gaze

raking his body, noting every curve and plane, every scar marking his flesh. Goodness, he was beautiful. "You were surprised when I announced our wedding plans." He stopped walking and so did she. "Raynor hasn't been dead for very long. I thought you'd give me time to mourn." "Our wedding is just a symbol of the unity of Ravenhill. I don't intend to rush your grieving or expect you to consummate our marriage until you're ready." "You don't?" She tried to sound relieved in spite of her disappointment. Shaking his head slightly, he moved closer. Her arms, which were still folded across her breasts, brushed his chest. It felt cool, roughened by a few curling blond hairs. She tilted her face up to his. Staring at her, he parted his lips slightly. Her heart pounded when she realized how little they'd have to move for their mouths to touch. To keep from kissing him like some wanton hussy, she asked, "So tomorrow you won't expect us to make love?" He shifted his gaze from her mouth to her eyes and she

nearly smiled upon noting his startled expression. At least he wasn't completely beyond human feeling. "No. Unwilling females don't interest me." He walked passed her without so much as brushing her with his shoulder. The muscles of his buttocks and legs tightened when he stepped out of the water. Marion's mouth went dry as she imagined her naked curves trapped between those powerful thighs. While pulling on his breeches and shirt, he kept his back turned and said, "Get out of the water. It's time to go home." She shot him a deadly look. Who the hell did he think he was, ordering her out of the water like she was a child? "I'm not ready. You go back of you want to." He turned. "If you don't obey, I'll drag you out myself." "You arrogant, condescending..." He walked to the edge of the water and strode in. When the water reached his calves, she shouted, "All right! All right! I'll come out. Just go back up there and turn around."

He did as she asked. Clenching her teeth in frustration, she left the water and dressed quickly. "You may turn around now." His gaze swept over her robed figure before he led the way back to the house, Marion almost running to keep up with his long, quick strides. Once in her room, Marion leaned against the door and closed her eyes, confused by her mixed feelings regarding her husband-to-be. She despised his arrogance and his belief that he could tell her and everyone else what to do. She deepened her voice and mocked, "Get out of the water. It's time to go home." Who did he think he was? "He's master of this place now, that's who he is." Though she'd been married before, she'd enjoyed a good amount of freedom. At first Raynor had been so involved in keeping their land secure that he'd paid her little attention, then his age and failing health affected him, giving her even more freedom and power. Wyborn was far from old and unhealthy, and apparently he was comfortable with balancing his marital life with his duty, which was why it surprised her that he would willingly postpone their wedding night. She'd seen lust in his gemstone eyes when he'd looked at her in the

river and she wondered how long he'd wait before demanding his marital rights. Recalling how the moonlight glinted off his water-slicked body, she sighed. Perhaps she would be the first to demand that they consummate their marriage. Never, she thought. I would sooner die a withered old virgin than throw myself at an arrogant ass like him. After removing her robe and the damp dress, she slipped beneath the bed coverings. Thinking about her coming marriage, she wished her stomach would stop churning. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of passionate sapphire eyes and a scarred, muscular body that enveloped hers like a tender, breathing shield.

****

"This dress is just as lovely as ever, my lady." Brenna, Marion's maid and closest friend, adjusted the sleeves on the honey-colored gown draping her mistress's small, curvaceous body. The V-neck, flowing sleeves, and border were embroidered with green and gold thread. It was the dress she had married Raynor in, the only expensive one she owned. When her family had been

slaughtered years ago, everything of value except her title had been taken. Afterward, Raynor had to be thrifty, since everything they owned was needed to support Ravenhill. "You look beautiful, and for once all those looks of yours won't be wasted." Marion raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" "Don't tell me you haven't noticed Wyborn's appearance." "He's just a man, Brenna." "But what a man! I shouldn't be saying this, but you should hear the talk in the kitchen. You'd best keep him busy nights and not give him the time or strength to flirt with those blue-eyed servants Raynor brought with him from his homeland. There are rumors that Norse women are experts in lovemaking." "Better he take them than me. I'm harnessed to him legally. That's enough punishment for any woman." Brenna's eyes narrowed in her wizened face. She was an aging woman and had observed many things. Perhaps she guessed that Marion's venomous words disguised strong attraction to Wyborn.

"Brenna, can we do this any faster? I have to see to the wounded before I prepare for my wedding." "It's finished. The priest arrived about an hour ago and he's resting. The ceremony will be performed at dusk, so I'll have your bath ready by late afternoon." Marion was about to undress when someone knocked on the door. Brenna opened it and both women glanced at a man with wild auburn hair and a flaming beard. Marion knew him as Kell, a warrior who spent much time in Wyborn's company. He flashed a charming smile. "Good morning, Lady. I've come to give you some information regarding the ceremony." "And what information would you have regarding my lady's wedding?" Brenna glared at him. "The ceremony and feast have already been planned, at least as well as we could on such short notice." "Silence, crone. I was speaking to the Lady." "Crone? Have you barbarians no respect for your elders? You're scarcely out of swaddling and you're speaking to me like this?"

Brenna continued scolding him and Kell raised his aqua eyes to heaven. Marion stifled a giggle. "Perhaps we should hear what he has to say, Brenna." "As you know, it will be a Christian ceremony, so we have left the planning to you." He glanced briefly at Brenna who nodded in a manner befitting a queen rather than a servant. "However, there are a few of our old traditions Wyborn insists upon." "They probably want to slaughter a horse in honor of their bloodthirsty gods," Brenna muttered under her breath. "Wyborn has decided to forfeit the animal sacrifice," Kell continued, unaware of Brenna's sarcasm. The maid and the Lady exchanged disgusted looks but waited for Kell to go on. "He will be presenting you with a sword." "So soon? I didn't expect it as a wedding gift." Kell looked confused. "Lady?" "He said he'd give me a smaller sword and teach me

how to use it." Kell burst out laughing. "Of Wyborn, I wouldn't doubt it, but I'm referring to a sword that you will keep for your firstborn son. It's our way." "Oh." Marion blushed. "I'm afraid I don't know much about your traditions. Raynor converted to Christianity. I thought most of your people have as well." "Wyborn's beliefs are rooted in the past. He won't convert," Kell stated. "However, he is very familiar with your traditions. He has studied your ways so we wouldn't arrive here in ignorance." "I see," Marion whispered. She knew something of Norsemen and spoke their language fluently, having been married to one. Still, Raynor told her little of their Pagan traditions. She glanced at Kell. "I have to change out of this dress. Would you wait for me in the hall? I have many questions before I marry Wyborn." "I am at your service." No sooner had the door closed behind him than Brenna said, "That boy's got spirit. Heathen or no, there's something I like about him. I wonder how he'd feel about a bride? I have a niece who'd be perfect for him."

Marion stifled a laugh. Poor Kell. She would have to warn him.

****

Kell accompanied Marion on her rounds, aiding her with the wounded and answering her questions about his people's traditions and beliefs. Some were familiar to her, others were completely new. If Wyborn was willing to arm himself with knowledge, she would do the same. When she'd finished tending those inside the house, she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and stepped outside to help those with minor injuries. Kell left her to assist the men who were making repairs throughout the settlement. Walking through the village and along the wall, she paused to change bandages and see that infections hadn't set into minor scrapes. All the while, she searched for Wyborn. Finally she caught sight of him behind a barn splitting logs for repairs. Again his raw virility struck her hard, sending her heart aflutter. He lifted the ax with animal grace, the damp cotton of his

shirt pulling across his broad back. With the downswing, his muscles tightened sensually. Approaching, she noticed that the injury on his arm had bled through his sleeve. "Let me look at that," she said, causing him to pause with the ax in midair. Lowering the weapon he kicked aside the log and sat on the chopping block so that she could better reach him. "You've gotten plenty of work done this morning," she said, rolling up his sleeve. "There's no time to waste." She unraveled the bloody bandage and cleansed the wound. "You tore the stitches." "Cauterize it. I don't have time for this." "Stitches will hold fine if you stop swinging that ax for a while. This is our wedding day. Shouldn't you be preparing for the ceremony?" "What about you?"

"I'll be ready. I spoke with Kell. He said we should exchange swords tonight." "It's not necessary for you to give me one. You couldn't have known--" "You'll have my father's. It's one of the only things I have left of my family." "Then I shouldn't have it. Save it for our son." "He'll have the one you give me. I want you to have it." He smiled at her and she couldn't help responding in kind. For a moment, her wedding jitters were forgotten.

Chapter Three

It was mid-afternoon when Marion returned to her chamber to prepare for her wedding. Even as she soaked in a warm bath of rose-scented water, her heart pounded from nerves. After she'd fixed the stitches in Wyborn's arm earlier, she had grudgingly left him to tear them again as he had "work to do and no time to act like a lazy woman." Stig and Olav had approached her. The two offered to sneak her out of the village if she truly hated the idea of marrying Wyborn. Though she'd been touched by their loyalty to her, she made it clear that she intended to marry for the sake of the village. Until Wyborn gave them reason not to, they would cooperate with him. Looking relieved, the men had left her with good wishes for the coming ceremony. Brenna stepped into the room and handed Marion a fresh robe. "Come, my lady. It's time to get you dressed." Marion slipped into the robe and sat while Brenna combed the tangles from her hair and braided it. "It's a fine, handsome man you're to wed. He'll give you many lovely babes." "Not if I can help it." "You'd best forget that attitude. You can't stay a virgin forever. There's no way Wyborn won't claim his rights,

and you could certainly do worse. He seems like the kind of man who'll be gentle." "He'd better be," Marion fingered one of her daggers on the table in front of her, "or else I'll see to it there are no children." Brenna shot her a look of fury and concern. "Don't try that with the likes of him." "The stupid ox doesn't frighten me." "Raynor indulged your sharp tongue, but Wyborn won't look at you in the same fatherly manner. He's young and strong, and I'll wager his appetites are just as strong. With the right man, lovemaking can be a wonderful thing. I remember the first night with my own dear husband, God rest his soul...." Brenna's voice drifted off and she smiled at the memory. Marion patted the old woman's hand. "Thank you, Brenna, but Wyborn and I will get through with this on our own." Brenna respected her Lady's wishes and spoke only of the ceremony and the fine feast, which the servants had spent the day preparing. The great hall had been cleaned and readied for the ceremony. A priest visited the settlement often, since Raynor and his men had

converted to Christianity. As Kell had told her earlier and Wyborn reinforced when she'd asked him that afternoon, her new husband would not abandon his Pagan beliefs. At least he agreed that she could raise their children as Christians. She reflected that in some ways he would make an ideal father with knowledge and skills to pass on to his sons and daughters. When she'd told Brenna he was a stupid ox, she'd spoken out of spite and apprehension, not because she believed it was so. One only had to speak with Wyborn to know that in spite of his rough manner and appearance, he was intelligent. Goodness, what was wrong with her? Handsome, intelligent, strong. What other god-like qualities could she give him? Yet he was all those things. Damn Raynor! Why did he have to recommend Wyborn as his successor? She'd never felt so torn in her entire life as when she'd first met the eyes of a certain Norse chieftain! Marion dressed carefully in her gown and slipped her feet into soft leather boots. She stood still as Brenna arranged a shoulder-length veil over her hair and fixed it with a silver band. "You are beautiful, my lady." Marion forced a nervous smile and picked up the

sword resting on her bed. Though the weapon was heavy, Marion had no trouble handling it. The blade was much smaller and lighter than Wyborn's, but her father hadn't been nearly as large as the Northman. Her smile softened as she looked at the blade and recalled her family. She'd been very young when they'd been killed, but sometimes she saw flashes of her mother and father in dreams or heard her brothers' teasing laughter on the wind. "Your parents would have been very proud to have you as their daughter. Though it doesn't mean much coming from an old servant, I'm proud of you too." Marion embraced the woman. "It means everything to me, Brenna. You've always been like my family." Brenna's arms tightened around Marion for a moment before she pushed her away and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "Enough of this, or else we'll both walk down there whining, and how would that look?" Marion nodded, straightening her shoulders. She would not be seen sniveling like a frightened child, but would meet her warrior-husband as an equal.

****

"Wait until you see her in that dress!" Kell brushed water from his eyes. He and Wyborn had stopped to bathe in the river before the ceremony. "I have to admit, I expected an ugly little wench, but she's beautiful." "And taken." Kell threw back his head and laughed. "Don't concern yourself, my friend. None of us are suicidal. Your bride is just that, yours." If only that were completely true. Marion belonged to him, yet he hadn't lied when he'd said he only wanted to bed a willing partner. Not only wasn't it in Wyborn's nature to force a woman, but he'd never had a shortage of wenches willing to tumble into bed with him. He didn't consider himself an ugly man. He'd been blessed with a tall, strong body that served him well in battle, but his hair was too coarse and his eyes too dark. He could live with his face, but many of the men who served under him had much finer features. Still, women had always clustered around him like scavengers to carrion. Already since arriving in Ravenhill he'd had several offers from serving wenches and village women. At one time, he would have taken a couple of the prettier ones for mild diversion, but since meeting

his bride, no other woman held any fascination for him. He wanted to taste Marion's full, pink mouth. He wanted to touch her small, curvaceous body and see lust ignite her lovely brown eyes. Not only did her face and form attract him, but her manner excited him to near madness. Her courage to dress as a man and use weapons in battle fascinated him. Never in his life had a woman ensnared him so helplessly. He was dying of desire, and all she was concerned about was whether or not he intended to force her into bed on their wedding night. "I mean no disrespect to the Lady Marion, but I envy you this night," Kell said as they stepped out of the water and pulled on their clothes. "Come," Wyborn said flatly, irritated by his friend's natural assumption, "or I'll be late for my own wedding." "I think she's eager to please you. She asked me many questions about home." "She mentioned something about speaking to you about our wedding ceremony." "That was only part of it. She wanted to know what our houses were like and our women. The old religion

interested her as well, and she asked what your family was like." "What did you tell her?" Kell shrugged. "Only that they're all dead except for your brother, Sven, and your sister, Sonja." Wyborn's stern expression relaxed at the thought of his siblings. Sven and Sonja had been in his care since their mother died in childbirth seven years before. Sven was actually Wyborn and Sonja's half-brother. Their father had been killed in battle many years ago, and afterward his mother had remarried. Her second husband had died at sea along with Wyborn's two full brothers. Wyborn had been in his early twenties at the time. Sonja had been eleven. Though now she was well past the age of betrothal, she was a stubborn young woman who insisted on having some say in who she'd marry. Wyborn didn't have the heart to force her into an unsatisfactory union. He planned on bringing both Sonja and Sven to Ravenhill as soon as possible. "I thought that my bride might have a settling effect on Sonja, but after seeing Marion's love of weapons, I hate to think what the two of them might brew together," Wyborn said. "I keep telling you, Sonja needs a husband and half a

dozen babies to calm her down. She's been cursed with your stubborn streak and you've done nothing but indulge it." Wyborn glanced over his shoulder at Kell and lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean cursed? Don't answer that. We've strayed from the original conversation. What else was Marion asking about?" "Like I said, everything." Kell recited the conversation between himself and Marion, and Wyborn felt the unfamiliar sting of jealousy. The woman only seemed able to argue with him, yet she'd talked with Kell for quite some time. Apparently Marion's haughtiness and anger were reserved only for Wyborn. He didn't understand the woman at all. Had he not been gentle with her? Had he not tried to reassure her that he wouldn't abuse her or her people as long as they cooperated with him? Never in his life had he been so lenient with people out to kill him as he'd been during Ravenhill's attack on his army. She didn't appreciate his tolerance. She only wanted to argue with him, and on top of everything, she had to be the most sensual creature he'd ever seen. Just thinking about her made his heartbeat quicken with desire, but he'd get no satisfaction this night. His wedding night. He laughed aloud and Kell to toss him a questioning look, which Wyborn completely ignored.

****

On Marion's way to the great hall for the wedding ceremony, Wyborn stepped in her path. She drew a startled breath and looked up at him, certain that she'd never seen a more handsome man. Gone was the scruffy warrior. Before her stood a chieftain as regal as any king. The torches in the hallway glinted off thick, ash-blond hair combed smooth down his back. He smelled of fresh water and clean forest breeze. Brown breeches hugged the muscular length of his legs and disappeared into calf-high boots. A green tunic, the neck of which was embroidered with black thread, brushed him mid-thigh while the sleeves were tucked into wide metal cuffs at his wrists. She met his gaze and noticed that he was staring at her with the same intensity. "You look beautiful," he said. Smiling, she cast her eyes down, both loving and hating the way his words made her belly tighten. She nodded at the sword he held, noting it was slightly smaller and of a different design than his own. "For our firstborn?"

He nodded. "What if it's a girl?" "Then we'll get her a smaller one." He winked, and she couldn't help smiling. This man had some very endearing qualities. He held out his hand, and she rested hers on top of it as he escorted her to the hall where the priest and guests waited. The ceremony was short, and before she knew what was happening, she and Wyborn were married. As soon as the priest signaled the end of the ceremony, the hall erupted into talking and laughter. Servants lugged trays of food to the tables and music filled the air. Marion and Wyborn sat next to each other at the head of the longest table. While he engaged in conversation with several of his men, she glanced at the plain gold ring adorning her left hand. Married. She was married again, this time to a man who both tempted and irritated her. The scent of warm bread and cooked meat wafted through the hall. Though Marion had to admit the trays of roasted boar and lamb, fruit, bread, and cakes looked delicious, she had little appetite. She swallowed several mouthfuls of food, not even paying attention to what it

was, and sipped the strong wine. Throughout the meal, she glanced at Wyborn and noted that his appetite wasn't at all affected. He also drank mead, something she had never been able to acquire a taste for in spite of Raynor's years of trying. Marion was just beginning to relax slightly when the man next to Kell accidentally knocked a cup of wine onto the auburn-haired warrior's lap. "Stupid oaf!" Kell snarled. "I thought you were only clumsy on the battlefield!" "I spilled it on purpose because it's the first time your body has seen liquid in half a year!" Kell stood, nearly knocking his chair backward. "Birds nest in your beard and you're insinuating that I'm dirty?" The warrior also stood, and Marion glanced nervously around the room. No one, except several of her servants, seemed hindered by the outburst, and many of the men were even laughing and cheering the two on. Marion turned to Wyborn who was concentrating on a juicy leg of lamb. Only when Kell and his opponent began to wrestle in the middle of the floor did Wyborn look up and, to Marion's horror, laugh.

"Are you all insane?" Marion's dark eyes flashed. Wyborn glanced at her, a half smile fading from his lips. "What's wrong?" "What's wrong? This is supposed to be a wedding!" "They're only having fun." "Fun? You call this fun? Why don't you stop them?" "If you want." Wyborn stood, strode to the center of the room and shoved the two men apart. He punched Kell in the nose and the other man in the stomach. They landed on their rumps on opposite ends of the room. "No more violence!" he ordered. "This is a wedding, not training exercise." After a moment of silence, everyone continued eating and talking. Kell and the man he'd been fighting stood, walked to the table, and began laughing together like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Marion's mouth hung open in shock as Wyborn dropped back into the seat beside her.

"Better?" he asked, looking genuinely eager to please. "I ... I don't quite know what to say." "Well, I never thought I'd see you in that position." He smiled, refilling her cup and offering it to her. As she took it, he ran his fingertip gently over the back of her hand. That touch alone caused her entire body to tingle. She took a deep swallow of wine and settled back to endure the rest of the feast. Throughout the evening, guests danced, sang, and ate until only crumbs and bones remained. Most of them slipped into drunken stupors on top of the tables and on the straw-covered floor. Wyborn, who still sat talking with Kell, Erik, and Stig, turned his attention to Marion and offered her his hand. "It's time for us to go up." Staring into his eyes, she noted that unlike most of the others, his vision was clear and he hadn't drunk to excess. She wondered if he recalled his promise to leave her untouched until she gave her consent. Part of her hoped he would remain true to his word while another part of her wanted to throw herself into his embrace. She was a young, healthy woman who had spent several years married to a man unable to provide

her with physical pleasure. In truth, she had never thought much about making love until she'd seen Wyborn. Her hand slipped into his as they stood. "Have a good night," one of the men slurred drunkenly from where he sprawled on a wooden bench, his bloodshot eyes leering at Marion. Wyborn placed his foot under the bench and knocked it over, leaving the man face down in a pile of trash-strewn straw. "Drunken fool. Should be fun getting them up to work in the morning." He and Marion stepped over several unconscious guests. Marion followed him up the steps. In spite of how she swore to remain calm, she trembled with anticipation. He placed a warm hand on her back. "You're cold." "Summer's almost over. Nights are cold." "Want to see cold? You should visit my country." "Raynor told me about it. So did Kell. It sounds wild but beautiful."

"It is." He opened the door to his room, her hand still entrapped in his. She pulled back. "Wait." "I thought you might want to talk for a while." "Just talk? Do I look like a fool?" His gaze darkened with anger at her implication. "I gave you my word that I would not touch you. That is sufficient." Touching the dagger hidden beneath her dress, she hesitantly followed him inside. "What do you want to talk about?" He tossed a new log on the fire, then glanced at her over his shoulder. "Kell said you spoke with him earlier. Why did you ask him about me instead of coming to me yourself?" "I didn't think you'd be bothered. Other than barking orders, I've noticed you don't say much to anyone." "I don't have much to say."

"That's why I didn't ask you about yourself, but went to your friend instead." "What is there to say? I oversee my land and fight. There's not much else to me." "Not according to Kell." "Kell never stops talking." Wyborn adjusted the smaller pieces of wood with a poker. "Ever since we were boys he'd make up wild tales. We'd go fishing and a month later he'd be talking about how we caught whales." "He makes me laugh. My maid Brenna wants to introduce him to her niece." "Good." Wyborn placed the poker aside and sat in the chair near hers. "Let him have some children to listen to his stories. Maybe they'll believe him." "I didn't mind listening. He had much to say about you." "All lies." "Most of it was favorable." "Then those parts are true."

"He said no one can beat you on the battlefield and that he's seen you fend off ten men at once during a raid." "What do you think?" His amused gaze held hers. "I wonder what sort of man earns the name 'The Indomitable,' but even so, you're still just a man." "I don't aspire to be anything more." "Other than to ensure that we're safe during an attack, your warrior's skills don't interest me. It's difficult to gather personal information about you. Fighting is more important to your people than anything else." "What personal information?" "The sort of things that help one know you. What you like to eat? What makes you laugh? How you like to relax?" "You're a funny little creature." "Aren't you curious about me, Wyborn?" she asked, exasperated. He sat back, the firelight flickering in his sapphire eyes. "I know you're stubborn, but care for all people

equally, regardless of their station. I know you consider yourself a strong woman and are proud of it. You like your meat burnt and you hate mead." "For some reason, I didn't think you noticed all that." He didn't speak, but held her captive with his gaze. Finally she stood. "I should go to my room." Moving swiftly, his large frame blocked her path. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Marion." Panic nearly over came her. "I knew I couldn't trust you!" She reached for her dagger and thrust it at his belly. Catching her wrist, he wrenched the dagger from her grip and flung it across the room. The blade embedded in the wall. Struggling against him like a captured fox, she bit and clawed at his flesh. "I'd rather be dead than forced to rut with a bloodthirsty, heathen bastard!" He grasped her by the shoulders and lifted her off the ground so that his furious blue eyes stared directly into hers. "I'm no bastard. My father was chieftain before me and my mother his legal wife. Also, Lady Marion, I

have absolutely no desire to bed down a scrawny little rat, but if we're going to make this look like a proper marriage, you damn well better spend the night in this room." With her feet dangling helplessly and her pride wounded by his angry words, she did the only thing she could. She spat in his face. Cursing, he dropped her into a chair and wiped his face. "You're staying here tonight, Marion." "I'll stay here for the sake of my people." He remained with his back to her for a moment, and when he turned to speak, his features were arranged in their usual expressionless state. "You can take the bed." His words were soft but cold. "No. I will not risk sleeping in the same room as you." "Fine." He stalked to the bed and flopped onto it, crossing his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling, his jaw set in anger. Marion pulled her feet up under her and wrapped her

arms around herself as she stared at the fire, blinking tears of rage and humiliation from her eyes. Scrawny rat he'd called her. How could she have thought that a beautiful golden warlord like him would desire her? It didn't matter what he thought. She had her pride. Earlier she thought about relenting and consummating their union, but not after tonight. Not after he'd insulted her so. She ignored the fact that she'd tried to stab him to death and that he might have been speaking out of anger. If he wanted a fat, clumsy bitch from his homeland, then he could find himself one. Why hadn't she listened to Stig and Olav when they'd offered to help her escape? Now she was married to the barbarian and there was no way out.

****

Across the room, Wyborn tried to calm the furious beating of his heart. He was married to a madwoman! One moment the little bitch was as sweet and innocent as a maiden in his deepest fantasies and the next she was trying to kill him. Could the thought of sleeping with him really be so offensive to her that she would consider murdering him on their wedding night? She'd spoken in depth to Kell and he noticed how she seemed

to favor the young warrior called Stig. Evidently she was attracted to those fine-featured men with eyes as light as an afternoon sky, who spoke with meaningless, charming words. Obviously she didn't like him at all. Earlier when they'd talked about the children they might have, he thought she might have some feeling for him. She'd been so gentle when she'd tended his arm that afternoon that he never would have believed that hours later she would be lunging at him with a dagger poised to kill. How could they endure marriage if she hated him so? He lay there for hours, unmoving and unable to sleep. Finally he stood and tugged off his shirt, tossed it aside, and went to rekindle the fire before trying to get at least some sleep. Before walking to the hearth, he tugged the dagger from the wall and locked it in a trunk under his bed along with his swords. He didn't trust her not to try and slash his throat while he slept. Tossing another log onto the fire, he glanced at Marion. She'd fallen asleep in the chair, her legs curled under her, her head resting against the hard edge of the seat. Wyborn shook his head, walked halfway back to the bed, then turned around and picked her up. She scarcely weighed anything. Had it not been for the soft curve of her breasts pressed against his chest, she would have felt little different than a child. She stirred slightly but didn't open her eyes, though her arm slipped around

his neck and her head rested against his shoulder. Her hair carried the scent of roses and her hand felt soft against his nape. After placing her on the bed, he covered her with a blanket. His hand lingered on her braided hair before he stretched out beside her. He was such a fool. Why couldn't he hate her as she hated him?

****

Awareness stole over Marion before she opened her eyes. She inhaled the familiar, comforting scent of fire's burning embers and shifted beneath the bedcovers. Then she felt the sensation of warm flesh beneath her hand and against her face. Her eyes snapped open as she remembered that she was not in her chamber, but had fallen asleep in Wyborn's. Still, she'd drifted off in a chair, not in bed. Her cheek rested against Wyborn's shoulder and her hand on his chest. Panic shot through her for a moment before she realized she still wore her dress and though his torso was bare, his breeches were intact.

By the look of the moon outside, it was several hours until dawn. She had spent most of the night with Wyborn and he had held true to his promise. He must have carried her to the bed after she'd stubbornly fallen asleep by the fire. Guilt washed over her. Not only had he kept his word, but he had treated her with far more respect than she was due. Had he been a lesser man, her earlier attack might have ended in his death. That thought turned her stomach. The image of this beautiful warrior dead by her hand horrified her. When he'd stood before her like an immovable wall and told her that he wouldn't let her leave his chamber, she'd been overcome by fear. Thoughts of his violent reputation combined with his physical strength raced through her anxious mind. What if his decent behavior had been a lie, a clever ploy to gain the trust of her and her people? What if his idea of sharing a marriage bed was as bloodthirsty as his appetite for battle? Once in his arms, he could torture her, crush her like a kitten, and toss her aside. He and his men considered brawling appropriate behavior for a wedding feast. What made her think he would have any idea how to treat a woman in bed? Once again she had been wrong about him. Because of her impulsive behavior, she had learned the painful truth about why he so easily agreed not to bed her. He found her unattractive. Worse than unattractive. He had

called her a scrawny rat. She lifted her gaze to his face. His eyes were closed and his sensual lips slightly parted. Stubble roughened his jaw line, making his appearance even more rugged. His coarse hair spread out on the pillow, tendrils grabbing at his shoulders. It seemed that the only way she'd ever touch this wild, beautiful creature was when he was asleep and didn't have to look at her. Her gaze trailed down his broad chest to his muscle-ridged stomach. Moving her hand across his pectoral muscles, she marveled at the warmth of his flesh and the tickle of hair against her palm. Using her fingertips, she traced his ribs, then moved her hand up to his throat. She gasped sharply when she noticed his dark blue gaze upon her. He wore an uncertain expression, as if he was desperately trying to understand her but was unable to figure out how. Feeling rather like a fool, she said softly, "I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have attacked you." "It was a stupid thing to do." "I know that, but I was afraid." It killed her to admit any kind of weakness, but she'd made a terrible mistake. For the sake of her people, she had to find a way to make peace with him. "I thought you'd changed your mind about.... I thought you might hurt me."

"So you wanted to kill me first?" Her eyes widened and anger stirred inside her. "You're laughing at me? I don't think this is at all funny, but what can I expect from a barbarian like you? You and those brutes you call kinsman come charging in here, swinging your swords and brawling at weddings! Any sane woman would be horrified at the thought of being ravaged by--" "I have never once ravaged an unwilling woman!" She stared at him, dumbstruck, before retorting, "Then I guess I really am safe, seeing how I'm not a woman, but a rat." "What?" He narrowed his eyes in question, then shook his head, remembering their earlier fight. "I only said that because you made me angry." "Oh sure." She pushed away from him, leaning on her elbow. "I know what your women look like. They're all tall, blond goddesses. I'm sorry I'm not a goddess, Wyborn, but if you want Ravenhill, you'll have to accept your ugly wife as well." He laughed.

"How dare you mock me!" She grasped her pillow and hit him with it. He tugged it from her and in a swift motion, pinned her to the bed. He kept most of his weight on his forearms and off her small frame. Still he loomed over her like some savage angel. "You're a wild wench." His stared at her in a manner that made her stomach tighten with anticipation. "I like that. As for being ugly, I laughed because you had to be joking. You're a beautiful woman." "Why should I believe you after what you said to me earlier?" She struggled to sound haughty. Difficult with his gorgeous body so close to hers. He spoke against her lips. "Believe what you want." Closing her eyes halfway, she waited, her heart thrumming with desire though her hands pushed against his chest. The strength of her arms was nothing to him, but the power of her will kept him at bay. "I keep my promises." His cheek brushed hers so gently that she only felt the tingle of the night's growth of beard. Her breath caught as his lips nearly touched hers. Instead of kissing her, he whispered, "Not until you come to me, Marion."

"Don't wager on it, chieftain." He smiled as of to say, you'll come. Then he rolled off her and turned onto his side. Staring at the ceiling, she cursed silently in frustration.

****

Marion awoke to a narrow stream of sunlight across her face. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, she reached for Wyborn only to find an empty space on the bed. She opened her eyes and drew his pillow to her face, inhaling the woodsy scent of his hair, which still clung faintly to the cotton. "I must be losing my mind." She couldn't decide if she liked him or hated him, but she knew she was attracted to him. If only she hadn't let her fear overtake her last night. What would have happened if she hadn't attacked him with the dagger? Would they have simply talked and spent the night on opposite ends of the room, her in the bed, him by the

fire, or would they have succumbed to the passion growing between them? She half smiled and her stomach quivered joyfully. At least he didn't think she was ugly. She was fiercely glad that his insult had only been spoken in anger. And that look in his eyes when he'd nearly kissed her! She could have laughed with elated anticipation. "Anticipation of what?" She shoved her braid over her shoulder and slung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet dangled just short of the floor, so she pointed her toes to touch the cool wood. Wyborn had said he wouldn't approach her until she came to him. There had been challenge in his eyes when he'd said that. He had initiated a battle of wills, which she had no intention of losing. Still, she wanted him so badly! Now that she knew he wouldn't hurt her, she was more curious than ever to lose her virginity. It was long past time. "But what if I fall in love with him?" She stood and paced the room. "Just because he didn't hurt me doesn't mean he'll be good for Ravenhill. What if he's an unbearable master? We'll have to get rid of him." The thought of rebelling against Wyborn made her shiver. He was the most formidable warrior she had ever seen, and having spent her life with Norsemen,

she'd seen many. Wyborn was more than a strong sword arm. He was intelligent, observant, and she could tell just by listening to his men that he was respected. They served him not out of animalistic fear, but because they truly admired him. If his subordinates liked him then he couldn't be so terrible. But they're Norsemen, she told herself, men awed by ruthless warriors. Never had she felt so torn. Before giving her heart to her new husband, she needed time. Still, if she was forced to be married she could allow herself to take some pleasure in it. She made up her mind to satisfy her physical urges, but wouldn't allow herself to fall in love with him until he proved himself worthy. Now all she had to do was find a way to make him approach her, because she had no intention of begging him to come to her bed. Someone knocked on the door and a moment later Brenna stepped inside. Carrying a basin of fresh water to the table, the old woman wore a knowing smile. While Marion washed, Brenna said, "Wyborn began work early this morning, but he didn't look very rested. How was the wedding night?" "I don't want to talk about it."

The smile faded from Brenna's face and she placed a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Did that oversized boar hurt you?" "No." Marion hoped her guilt didn't show in her expression. "He didn't hurt me. He was very respectful." More than I can say for myself. "I'd just rather not talk about it. Did you say he's working?" "He and Erik rode off to see the land beyond the village. When they got back, they started helping with repairs. Something about building better defenses. I didn't pay much attention. I'll say this, he might be a chieftain where he comes from, but he's not above dirtying his hands with those who serve him." "No," Marion murmured, "he wouldn't be." "It seems we could have done worse. Of course, some of the men are complaining that he's expecting too much too fast, but I say it's about time people in this village got off their lazy backsides. God has been with us these past few months by not allowing an attack to come while Raynor was ill." "Then I guess I should get off my lazy backside and do my share." Marion slid out of her wedding dress and into a heavy cotton tunic. Afterward, Brenna brushed

and braided her hair. "I think this marriage will be good for you, my lady. There's a mischievous shimmer in your eyes that I've never seen before. I prayed for a man who would treat you well and make you happy after Raynor died. I know you cared for him, but he wasn't much of a husband. When I saw Wyborn, I knew someone had heard my prayers." "Providing he's all we think he is. You know as well as I do what good liars men are." "You could be right, but I don't think so. I have a good sense of people. I said from the first that Bodin was trouble, but as wicked as he was, I sense that Wyborn can be just as good with those deserving of his loyalty." "I hope you're right, Brenna. For all our sakes." Marion spent her morning making rounds as a healer and assisting her servants with stitching new tapestries for the upstairs chambers. In the afternoon, she made a point to help bring food to the men working on the repairs. She and Brenna carried baskets to Kell, Stig, Erik, and several others who were patching the large barn behind the manor house. Kell reached into the basket Brenna carried, and she

gently slapped his hand. "Wait until I uncover it, boy." "We're starving, old woman." Kell's voice was stern, but his blue eyes danced. "As tall and big as you are, you can wait a few more moments." Brenna uncovered the basket of warm chunks of bread and held it out to the men. Beside her, Marion offered the cheese and fruit she carried, but her gaze searched the village for any sign of Wyborn. Brenna cast a quick, knowing glance at Marion and asked the men, "Where is your master?" "Helping to raise the new storage shed on the east side," Erik replied. Brenna exchanged some of her bread for Marion's fruit. "Go on, my lady. I'm sure they're as hungry on the east side as they are here." Marion turned on her heel and strode purposefully over the muddy ground. Though her face remained calm, her insides churned at the thought of seeing Wyborn again. She scolded herself for acting like a silly girl, until she

walked behind a thatched hut and saw Wyborn and a group of men raising the side of the new shed. Her heartbeat quickened and she almost forgot to breathe. The play of muscles in his shoulders and back beneath his sweat-dampened shirt sent waves of desire crashing through her. His long, sinewy legs strained in his brown breeches as he braced against the weight of the wall. She scarcely noticed the others beside him, as all her attention focused on her new husband. When they finally secured the wall, she approached with the food. Most of the men dove gleefully into the basket, exchanging greetings with Marion. Only Wyborn took the food slowly, silently, his dark blue gaze fixed on her with a sensuality that inspired dreams a woman couldn't speak of when she woke. Since he obviously had no intention of doing so, she initiated the conversation. "You've accomplished much this morning." "We'll be busy through to winter." He turned his gaze to the horizon and bit into an apple. After a moment, she continued, "Most of the injured are doing well." "You're a skilled healer."

"I should probably have another look at your arm." "No need. One of the women cared for it this morning before I left with Erik." Jealousy shot through her. "You could have asked me." "I didn't want to wake you. We didn't get much sleep last night." "About last night. I didn't mean to--" "I took the liberty of going through your room and removing any weapons." Marion glared. "You went through my room?" "Just as you want to trust me, I want to trust you. Prove to me you're worthy of that trust, and I'll return your weapons." "You promised me a sword, and now you've taken my daggers, my bow?" "I will keep my promise when you prove yourself." "I said I was sorry last night," she snapped. "I had every right to be afraid. Look at you! If you had wanted to

have your way with me, what could I have done?" "I understand your fear, but we must learn to respect and trust each other. Apparently you're unable, or unwilling, to do this while you have access to weapons." "I can't believe a draft horse like you is afraid of me." She spoke loudly enough for his men to hear. They glanced at the couple with curious smiles, but with one look from Wyborn, they continued their business. "Don't act like a child, Marion. There's work to be done and from now on we must do it together." "Don't you think of anything but work?" He merely stared at her with cool blue eyes until she flung the basket at his feet. The men glanced discreetly at their leader and his hot-tempered wife. Wyborn chuckled. "Women." The others heartily joined his laughter and Marion stalked back to the house, her fists clenched almost as tightly as her jaw. Marion spent the remainder of the day avoiding Wyborn. Since one of the maids was ill, Marion's

efforts with a needle had been required in the manor house. Though stitching tapestries bored her, she was grateful to remain inside the cool, dimly lit hall and avoid the unusually warm weather outside. By dusk, her neck and fingers ached from the tedious work and she felt ready to burst from excess energy. She had always detested sedentary tasks. Food was being served, so Marion joined the others. Pausing for a moment by the steps, she massaged her knotted shoulder. Her gaze flew to the door as it burst open and Wyborn, Erik, Kell, and Stig strode into the hall. Covered in dirt and sweat, the men laughed at some private joke. She was surprised by how easily her people accepted Wyborn. Almost instantly, Wyborn's gaze locked with hers and she felt the irritating, giddy sensation that overtook her whenever she was in his presence. "Lady Marion," Stig said, "you should see how good the village looks." "I was outside earlier." Erik nodded. "It's about time we started pulling together. Leadership is what we needed." Marion tossed Wyborn a belligerent look, then walked

to the table. Kell grinned. "Maybe you should take your bride upstairs, Wyborn. She needs to have some of that fire doused." "I think you should shut your mouth." Stig glared at Kell. "Relax, my young friend." Kell placed a friendly hand on Stig's shoulder. "You've no need to protect the lady any longer, now that she belongs to Wyborn." "The boy is right, Kell," Wyborn said. "But I'll overlook your jealous words. Women of fire are rare and I'm lucky enough to possess one." Wyborn approached the table and sat close enough to Marion that she felt the heat from his body. She didn't look at him, but kept her gaze fixed on the large, dirt-stained hand on the table beside her. Though his hands were thickly muscled and the palms callused, they were well shaped and she knew how gentle they could be. She'd planned to seduce him, but now that he was beside her, she was unable to move. "This is probably one of the last warm nights we'll have for a while. Do you want to go to the river?"

"Now?" She looked at him and he smiled slightly. "Yes. I'd like to go." "Good." He stood, dumped her bowl of food into his, took the bowl in one hand and her hand in his other. Everyone was so engrossed in eating that they didn't notice the two leaving the hall. While they walked in silence, Marion tried desperately to think of a way to initiate conversation, but everything seemed trivial. His warm hand held hers snugly and she noted that his strides were deliberately slow so that she needn't hurry to keep up with him. She smiled slightly. They hadn't been together long, but already she recognized some of his habits, like when he was upset, he'd make sure she needed to jog to match his pace. She wished briefly that she'd been born taller. What she lacked in stature she tried making up for in spirit. "What did you do today?" "Stitched tapestries. Very boring. I missed practicing with my daggers." If he noticed her sarcasm, he ignored it. "The shed is finished and the wall is nearly done. We'll be ready for winter. I'm hoping that my brother and

sister will arrive before then. If not, they'll come in the spring." "Sven and Sonja? I didn't know they were coming here." He laughed. "Where else would they go?" "I thought Sonja would be married." "No. She hasn't found a man she likes." Marion's eyes widened. "You're letting her choose her own husband?" "If I don't, she'll most likely kill the man I pick." His eyes glistened with amusement and Marion couldn't help smiling. It seemed that her chieftain had a heart hidden somewhere beneath his cold armor and calculating mind. "It sounds as if I'm going to like your sister." "That's what I'm afraid of." "Excuse me?" "Nothing." He stopped by the river and washed his hands, then splashed some water on his face before he

sprawled on the ground beside Marion. Leaning back on his elbows, he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. While she picked through the food, she felt his keen gaze upon her. She tore a piece of bread and offered it to him. Together they ate and watched the play of moonlight on the surface of the river. "Do you miss your home?" He shrugged. "Not really. I was never there much, except when my father first died. I had to take his place and there was much to put in order. Not as bad as here, of course. My father was a good chieftain." Though his praise sounded restrained, she knew that coming from a man like Wyborn, it was akin to mild awe. He was fair, but she realized that he judged himself as harshly as he judged others. "From what I understand, you've been the ruler for a long time. How old were you when you took your father's place?" "Thirteen." "You were very young." "Some thought I wasn't ready, but they were mistaken."

His sapphire eyes suddenly looked as hard as chips of glass. "Not that I didn't have much to learn, but I was chieftain. The land was mine, just as Ravenhill is now." "I guess that's why they call you The Indomitable. Not many people must argue with you." "You seem to enjoy it. I accept your courage. You're a worthy wife." Marion looked at him sharply, unsure of whether to thank him or hit him. She chose to ignore him. Once they'd finished eating, he undressed and waded into the water. Grateful for the dimness that hid her blush, she watched the clothes fall from his body, baring his broad shoulders and taut buttocks and legs. She hoped he'd turn around and show her the one part of his masculinity she longed to see, but he disappeared into the dark water and ducked beneath its surface. She removed her dress, but left on the thin cotton undergarment. Stepping into the river, she sank into the cool waves. Wyborn surfaced a short distance from her and pushed tendrils of hair from his face. He reached up and hooked his hands on an overhanging branch. The position revealed the hard curves of his arms and the sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach. Marion resisted the urge to swim over and touch him. Instead,

she gathered her nerve and proceeded with her earlier plan. Her heart pounding violently, she stood so that the water lapped her knees. The thin cotton garment molded transparently to her small, curvaceous body. Her rounded thighs, hips, and stomach flowed into firm, full breasts. Pink nipples stood out against the fabric. She unraveled her braid and shook it out so tendrils of hair clung to her damp shoulders and arms. Wyborn's gaze slowly raked her body, as if memorizing every curve. "Was your father like you?" She walked toward him, hoping her slow movements appeared sensual. By the way his gaze fixed on her gently bobbing breasts, she must have done it right. "In some ways." He shrugged, releasing the branch and dropping his hands to his sides. "Do you look like him?" He nodded almost imperceptibly. She lifted her hand and placed a fingertip to a jagged scar just below his collarbone. "Do you remember how you got all these scars? That's a stupid question. Of course you must. Forgive my curiosity, but I'm a healer."

"I think you'd be more interested in studying new wounds instead of old ones," he breathed, staring at her hand as she continued to touch the fading remainders of every old wound she could see. "I suppose." She rested her palm on his ribs, relieved to feel the rapid beating of his heart against her palm. Her own heart pounded wildly, her legs almost unable to support her as she touched his magnificent body. Why didn't he kiss her, damn it? She knew he wanted to. For several moments they stood, bound by the touch of her hand, until he turned away. "It's getting late and we have to be up early tomorrow." Cursing to herself, she followed him out of the water. Neither spoke on the way back to the house, and by the time they arrived, almost everyone was asleep. The dim rooms were silent except for muted snoring or the occasional whispered words of lovers. They stopped in front of her room. Trying to sound indifferent, she asked, "Should we spend the night together again?" "It's not necessary. If you can endure it every once in a

while, that should be sufficient." Her mouth opened slightly and she grasped his arm when he turned away. "Do you mean to tell me you'll never consummate our marriage? What about an heir?" "I'm not saying we'll never make love, but right now there are many women who are willing." "You'd sleep with another woman?" "And if you find another man who can satisfy you...." He shrugged complacently. "Just be discreet about it. I'd hate to have to kill someone for something as stupid as a love affair." Marion knew her face must have revealed her complete shock. Surely he was trying to outsmart her. No man could speak such words and mean them. "Sleep well, Marion." He turned from her and disappeared into his chamber.

Chapter Four

For the next two days, Marion did her best to avoid Wyborn. When their paths happened to cross in the hall, he spoke to her briefly, politely, but his eyes reflected none of their previous desire. Marion was torn between anger and passion. Now more than ever she wanted to lure her husband to the bedchamber, but his disinterest infuriated her. Maybe the unfeeling bastard didn't mind if she sought out other men, but if she learned that any other woman in the village was sleeping with Wyborn, she'd personally tear out the witch's hair and chase her out of Ravenhill. Though angry and confused by Wyborn, she had to admit the village had never looked better. The new fence was nothing short of a small fortress. The barns, cottages, and manor house were repaired and fitted with new roofs for the winter. No one was neglected, and none would suffer from the cold.

While Wyborn and his men worked outside, Marion and Brenna saw that food was stored, clothes were made and mended, and herbs and medicines were properly prepared and stored for the approaching cold weather. The only time she and Wyborn spent together was when he looked over her record keeping, acknowledged her skill with words and figures, and left her to continue with her management unhindered. She had to admit that his confidence in her work pleased her. On the third morning after their night by the river, Marion took a rest from her duties by walking through the fields on the outskirts of the settlement. On the field, warriors trained with swords, bows and arrows, and daggers. Some were on horseback while others fought on foot. Her gaze immediately riveted to Wyborn who fought within a circle of several warriors, all armed with swords. She watched, awed by his skill as he blocked and countered. Not once faltering though outnumbered, he moved like some great animal, all long, sinewy limbs and inborn grace. She never thought that watching a man train for battle could be beautiful, but with Wyborn, every movement, every shift of stance and lift of sword, was a sensual, deadly dance.

When the swordplay stopped, he left the others and approached her, sliding his weapon into the sheath on his back. Her entire body tingled from head to toe. She hadn't even realized he'd noticed her. "Is there something you wanted?" he asked politely, coolly. "I didn't mean to disturb you." "You haven't. It's about time I got back to the village anyway. I've been here all morning." "We haven't seen much of each other these past few days." "I thought you wanted it that way." "I never said that." "And we've both had plenty of work to keep us busy." "Yes. Work." Didn't the man think of anything else?

****

Wyborn glanced at his wife's aloof expression and straight spine and repressed the urge to kick the nearest tree. Three nights ago, she'd touched him with the sensual strokes of a practiced whore while she feigned interest in old battle scars, yet she refused to surrender to the desire burning them both from within. At least it was burning him. Other than a lusty look here and there, she seemed perfectly content to continue living a celibate life. Or maybe she had secretly taken a lover, as he had suggested. He'd better not discover who or the man might find himself accidentally gelded during a training session. Just moments after that last conversation outside her chamber, he had gone to his room but had been unable to sleep, so he had quietly taken his sword to the outskirts of the village and practiced until he could scarcely lift the blade. Still, his sleep had been restless. For the past few days he'd thrown himself and his men into intense training. He assumed that the extra training combined with rebuilding the village would help him forget the nagging, sexual ache inspired by Marion. Wyborn had always been a diligent worker, but lately Kell had been chiding him for being even more serious than usual. There was no way he'd admit to anyone, even his closest friend, that his marriage still wasn't consummated. It truly wouldn't have bothered him so much if he thought Marion was still afraid of him, but

the wench took pleasure in goading him every chance she got! "I've had rooms prepared for your brother and sister in case they arrive before the first snow." Marion broke his thoughts. He glanced at her, surprised. "You have?" "I'm looking forward to meeting them. It will be nice to have another woman to talk to. I love Brenna, but she's old and doesn't always understand some things." "You never had any brothers or sisters?" "Two brothers. They were killed with my parents long ago during a Viking attack. They were visiting relatives in Scotland at the time." He held her gaze, touched by the sorrow in her beautiful eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that. Raynor never mentioned it in his letter." "Why would he? We're only cattle to a man like you." "That's not true." "In my great grandfather's time, your people burned our churches, stole--"

"When that happened, most of my people didn't believe in your God." "So that makes it acceptable to destroy His temples?" "I didn't say that. I understand what it's like to lose loved ones in battle." She lowered her gaze and he touched her shoulder, wishing she would allow him to take her in his arms and comfort her. Strange that he had never felt this way about a woman before. "Whatever you want to believe, Marion, I am sorry." She looked at him and smiled slightly. One thing he knew about his wife was that she didn't give her trust easily. He vowed that one day he would earn her loyalty.

****

That day, Marion and Wyborn shared their midday meal. Afterward, Marion stood with Wyborn and Erik

while they examined the new storage shed. "We'll have more than enough food to last the winter," Erik stated. "I'm almost looking forward to it." Marion smiled. The men raised their eyebrows. "Sometimes it's nice to sit by the fire when it's cold outside." Wyborn met her gaze as if to say, this winter you'll have more than a fire to keep you warm, but Erik continued speaking about ship repairs, which were next in order. Marion, having never sailed on a ship before, began asking questions, but Wyborn's attention drifted across the village. Stig and Kell were attempting to quiet a draft horse that had become upset while being shod. The massive animal could do terrible damage if he got out of control. The two men were struggling to keep the horse from a full blown rampage. Wyborn raced for the scene just as Marion noticed two villagers, a mother and young son, feeding pigs behind a stack of logs the men were using for repairs. The horse's massive back hooves kicked the pile and the logs fell. "Look out!" Wyborn shouted, knocking the woman and child aside and bracing his hands against the tumbling wood. While Stig blindfolded the horse, Kell grabbed the two villagers by the backs of their tunics and yanked

them to safety. Wyborn jumped aside before all the logs began rolling. Marion lifted her skirts and ran after Erik who assisted Stig in calming the horse. Wyborn pushed himself to his feet. "Are you all right?" Marion grasped his arm, her pulse racing with concern. He nodded brusquely and turned to Kell and the woman who had swept her son into her arms and held him, curtsying gratefully to Wyborn. "They're fine." Kell waved. "But the logs knocked over the pigpen." "More rebuilding?" Stig teased Wyborn. "You said it, so you can do it." Wyborn laughed at Stig's woeful expression. "You could have gotten hurt or killed and you're laughing?" Marion snapped. "Why get upset about what could have been?" "Don't complain, Wyborn," Kell said. "I sometimes wish I had a woman to fawn over me."

"I am not fawning." Marion glared, stepping over the mess of logs to examine the crying child. "And I thought you said they were fine? His arm is cut." "Just a little scrape," Kell said. "Barbarians." Marion bid the mother and son to follow her so that she could clean the boy's cut.

****

Marion lay in bed and stared up at the canopy, her thoughts fixed on Wyborn. No matter how she tried, she couldn't seem to forget about him for a moment. He was such a complex man; arrogant, cold, courageous, caring. He fought with all the emotion of the sword he wielded, yet she didn't doubt that his compassion was genuine when he spoke about her family. He'd instinctively risked his own life to rescue two villagers, little more than slaves, a woman and a child. She couldn't think of many men of his station who would have done the same, but he was different, his world was different, and now, like it or not, she was a part of that world.

Standing, she slipped into a fur-rimmed robe and ran a hand through her dark hair that hung in loose waves down her back. She shivered as her bare feet hurried silently out of her room and into the hall where she knocked on Wyborn's door. "Who's there?" "Marion." The door opened and his gaze met hers. He wore only his breeches, his feet and torso bare, his hair hanging long and wild down his back. The force of his beauty struck her yet again. Would she ever grow accustomed to it? "I couldn't sleep, so I thought we might talk for a while." He stepped aside and extended his arm in invitation. Standing by the window, she gazed out at the village below. She wasn't sure how many moments passed before he spoke. "Why couldn't you sleep, Marion?" "I don't know." She turned to him. Seated at the table,

he bent his head and rubbed his shoulder. She noted for the first time that he looked tired and wondered if his sleep had been as limited as hers. She stood behind him and he looked around at her curiously. Nudging his hand aside, she brushed his course blond mane over his shoulder, fully exposing his bare back. She felt for the knotted muscle that had been nagging him and massaged it. "Better?" He grunted with approval, lowering his chin to his chest. "You're good at this." "I'm a healer." For a moment they remained silent. She stared at the broad, muscular back she touched, felt his warm skin, smooth in places, roughened by scars in others, and realized that her breathing had deepened and her heartbeat quickened. Her hands moved from his back and shoulders to his chest. She squeezed the hard muscles and caressed the strong column of his throat. Tilting his head back, his gaze met hers and she nearly stumbled as boiling waves of desire struck her from every angle. He grasped one of her hands and guided her around so

that she stood between his legs. Her palms braced against his shoulders while his hands encircled her waist. The attraction between them crackled like fire as they stood, their lips so close that they felt each other's breath. "Come to me, Marion?" "No." Her voice was a tremulous whisper. "I will not." His smile was slight and disappointed. He took her hand and brushed the back of it against his stubble-roughened cheek as his eyes momentarily slipped shut. Then he released her, stood, and walked to the window. "Good night, Marion." "Good night, Wyborn." She cast a longing glance in his direction before returning to her own chamber. Still unable to sleep, Marion tossed another log on the fire, wrapped a quilt around her shoulders, and sat in a large wooden chair facing the hearth. She stared at the flames, watching the colors and shapes, until her eyelids drooped. A single, quick tap on her door roused her, and she rose to answer it.

Wyborn stood outside, a large, leather-bound Bible in his hand. "I'm sorry." He glanced at the quilt she held tightly to her breast. "You were sleeping." "No, I wasn't." She smiled, more pleased than she wanted to admit by his unexpected visit. When she'd left his chamber, she hadn't thought to see him again until sometime the next day. "Come in." He brushed passed her and she closed the door. He held out the book to her. "I found this in Raynor's room. I cannot read it all. You're very skilled. Will you help me?" She smiled. "Of course. It's our holy book." "I gathered as much." He followed her to her chair and knelt on the floor beside her as she sat, the volume on her lap. "I was told yours was a peaceful God, but there are many battles in this book. He has a temper to rival Odin's." "Isn't Odin some kind of war god? Our God, the one true God, isn't like that." He lifted a skeptical eyebrow and she said, "You don't believe me? It's true. When we die, He'll welcome us into heaven."

"When you die," he said. "I aspire to enter Valhalla and await the coming of Ragnarok where I will fight alongside the gods and face the end of the world." "End of the world? The Apocalypse?" He narrowed his eyes in question and she turned to the last section of the Bible. "God will always defeat Satan. We'll be with Him for eternity," she said. He shook his head and flipped to the front. "From the beginning." "You want to read the whole thing?" "Not all in one night." "Maybe I can convert you yet," she murmured. As Kell had said, Wyborn was one of the few Vikings left who hadn't converted to Christianity, at least publicly. "You really believe you're going to Valhalla?" "I hope so. There you fight and never die from the wounds. You feast for eternity in the Hall of Odin." "Wouldn't you rather go to heaven and have peace and

love and deliverance from all evil?" "For eternity?" His eyes glistened with humor. "You think stitching tapestries is boring, try living like that forever." Sighing, she impulsively placed a hand to his cheek. "This is going to take plenty of work." He glanced at the pages. "I learn quickly. I understand most of it already." "I don't just mean the words." "Well that's a good place to start. I was reading about this enormous flood. They were building a great ship." For the next hour, they read by the fire. Somehow, as the night grew colder, they moved to the bed. Marion, still wrapped in her quilt, rested her head against Wyborn's shoulder as he read. His basic knowledge was good and he did learn quickly. She was surprised and pleased that he'd bothered to learn her written language at all. "Why are you so interested in this country?" she asked during a pause in his reading. "I'm interested in all places. Without knowledge, we're

no better than animals." "Who's taking care of your land back home now that you're here?" "My cousin. I trust him." "And your people aren't angry with you or think you a traitor?" "Why? I'll trade with them. Our jarl was glad to be rid of me, most likely." "Why?" "I have land and power." She noted that he merely spoke the truth without bragging. "He was concerned that I'd fight him to take his place." She played with one of the open ties on his shirt and asked softly, "Was he right?" "Maybe. Maybe not." "With all the traveling you did, all the fighting, are you going to be happy here, Wyborn, or will you be bored?" "Everything is new to me here. There's much to learn and much to teach. There are many things I already

like." He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. She looked back at the Bible and they continued reading. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. All she remembered was Wyborn's warmth and strength beneath her, enfolding her. She didn't know how much longer she'd be able to resist him. To her dismay, her emotions were becoming as strong as her desire.

****

The next morning, Wyborn was again gone before Marion awoke. The Bible rested on her bedside table. She smiled, glad that he planned on coming back to read it. They had shared a bed and not a single lustful touch had been exchanged between them, yet she found simply lying with him almost as enjoyable as the thought of bedding him. "Why do I feel like I'm a traitor if I like him?" Marion asked Brenna when they carried food to the men working at the stable.

"Because ever since you were a little girl you had to find something to rebel against. I don't know why you've always been such a willful creature. Wyborn is a good man. The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be. For the love of heaven, you found it in your heart to accept Raynor, and he was a rugged barbarian old enough to be your grandfather." "Raynor was good to me." "And Wyborn isn't? I've watched him endure your stubborn wrath." "Endure? He wants everything his own way. He's like some great bull using his power to force everyone to bend to his wishes." "You really believe that?" The younger woman sighed and glanced at her shoes. "Sometimes. He took away all my weapons." "Not that a woman should have such weapons anyway, but you most likely attacked him in his sleep." "If I did, he's apparently none the worse for it." "I know what you're suffering from. It's an age old disease called lust."

"Brenna!" "It's true. When you lie in his arms, you probably surrender completely, then you're such a stubborn girl that you can't live with yourself afterward." If only there was an afterward, Marion thought. "So few are lucky enough to be wed to a man who ignites passion in them. Why can't you enjoy what you have? Someday when it's gone, you might miss it more than you realize." Wyborn gone? Marion hadn't thought much about his leaving or even dying. He seemed unbeatable, everlasting, like boulders by the ocean. Still, if he wasn't someday killed in battle, a glory he aspired to though she couldn't fathom why, he might grow bored with remaining at Ravenhill and leave her to sail to other lands, or even return to his homeland. Her heart dropped to her belly at the realization that there might be lapses of months or years between meetings with him. Already she was accustomed to his presence, his strength, and his conversation. Yet when she thought about his demands of loyalty, the way he laughed at her frustration along with his men, the taking of her weapons as if she was a child, and worst of all, his casual suggestion that they should take lovers before

their marriage was even consummated, she became furious. It was as if she was his possession, like a sword or a helmet. He showed no real feeling for her, only the desire to see her come to him and beg for physical gratification. The man had never been beaten at anything, and he knew it. He reveled in it, and he wanted to conquer her as well. No man, no matter how much he attracted her, would do that. Maybe he had even inspired fear in his jarl, but he would not intimidate Marion. Outside the stable, Marion and Brenna noticed several of their men gathered in a circle. A head of curls stood above the others, their owner even taller than Wyborn. Marion and Brenna smiled at the sight of a friend returned and hurried to the group. "Derek!" Marion called. "It's so good to have you back." "My lady." The tall man, dressed in a loose cotton shirt and a tunic that left his legs bare from the knees down, bowed to her. "Please accept my apologies about Raynor. He will be missed and I'm very sorry I wasn't here when he passed."

"He thought highly of you, Derek. We both understood your wanting to return to Scotland to honor your grandfather's death, and I express my condolences to you and yours." "He was a good man, grandfather. Much like Raynor." Derek had been one of Raynor's favorites. Both the blood of the Scots and the Danes flowed through the feisty warrior who was powerful with his swords and fists. "I understand our new leader has arrived and you're married." "Yes." "I must meet him. From what I can see and what I've heard, he's already made Ravenhill a stronger settlement." "He's a fine man," Brenna said. "We could have done much worse." Derek glanced at Marion for confirmation, and she nodded. "We've given our allegiance, and Wyborn has promised fairness and protection. So far, we've had no reason to doubt him."

"Here he comes with Erik." Stig pointed to Wyborn, Kell, and the older warrior who were approaching. Derek bowed slightly to Wyborn. "I'm told yours is a strong sword arm," Wyborn said. "Good to have you with us." "Good to be here." Derek and Wyborn stared at one another, dark blue eyes on pale green. Both men were powerfully built and exuded strength found in only the finest warriors. She noticed several other people assessing the similarities between the two. Stig was the first to speak. "Derek is the strongest man we have and the best in hand to hand combat." "That's to our advantage," Wyborn said. "No one can beat him in a fight." "Just as there's always a weaker sword, there's also always a stronger one," Wyborn observed. Derek nodded to the chieftain. "Wisely spoken." "And modestly spoken," Kell added. "Considering I've

never seen a man with Wyborn's skill or strength." "Why else would we follow him into battle?" one of Wyborn's men stated from the back of the small crowd that had gathered for Derek's return. "We'll be looking forward to seeing you on the training field," Wyborn said to Derek. Marion glanced at Wyborn. "I say we should have a special feast in honor of Derek's return." "If you like." "That's not necessary." Derek smiled with an honest touch of embarrassment. "I insist," Marion said. "We're glad you're back." "It's good to be home." Derek turned to Wyborn. "Where am I needed?" "At the guardhouse outside the wall." "That's where I am. You can tell me of Scotland on the way." Kell nodded to Derek, his gaze sweeping the newcomer's short tunic. "Do you all go barelegged? Can you not afford breeches?"

Derek grasped the front of Kell's shirt. "Neither me nor my family are paupers." "No offence intended." Kell shoved Derek's hands away as they sauntered off. The Norseman tossed him sideways glance. "So what's it really called?"

Chapter Five

At dusk, everyone gathered in the hall where a feast to rival Marion and Wyborn's wedding was laid out in honor of Derek's return. Marion sat beside Wyborn amidst a table full of warriors. While they ate and drank, the men talked about the repairs, the coming winter, and past battles. Marion noticed that while Wyborn and Derek contributed to the tales, they spoke little about themselves, probably because the men on both sides began trading stories of the prowess of each.

Marion had spent enough time in the company of warriors to sense a wager in the making. In many ways men were like children, loving to watch a good fight and picking favorites. For the first time, excitement over the thought of a match stirred her. She knew Wyborn's strength and had seen his skill. Not once did she doubt his superiority to any man in Ravenhill, until Derek had returned. Like Wyborn, the Scotsman had seen many battles and was known for his unmatchable strength and skill. As she observed them, one pale-haired, the other dark, both powerful, she wondered which would win in battle. Not that she'd want to see either of them fight to the death, but one of those silly sparring matches the warriors enjoyed couldn't hurt anyone. She repressed a smile when Stig said, "I've never seen anyone like Derek on the field. I wonder if there's a man who can best him?" "Never be too cocky, boy." Derek pointed a half-cleaned chicken bone at Stig. "None of us are infallible. That's for God alone." "But there are some who shine in battle like a star on the darkest night," Kell said. "Some are gifted builders. Others make the finest of swords. Wyborn is a warrior without peer."

"And Kell's gift is weaving unbelievable tales. Save them to entertain the children in the morning." Wyborn lifted his mug before draining it of mead. "True as that may be, I'm sure you haven't kept your place as chieftain because you cannot fight," Derek added in his Scottish accent with its softly rolling r's. Wyborn merely raised an eyebrow and concentrated on his food. "I wouldn't mind a little match between the two of them." Kell smiled at Stig. "If you think your man is up to it." "It's his ass, pardon my rudeness, my lady." Stig bowed his head to Marion. "What do you say, Derek?" "I'm always up to some friendly exercise, but in this case, I cannot." Everyone but Wyborn shot Derek incredulous looks. "It wouldn't be fair. In Wyborn's position, even if he wanted to refuse, he couldn't." "No matter what my position, I'd have no desire to refuse."

Blue eyes met green and a ripple of excitement seemed to course through the room. Wyborn continued, "But you should feel no obligation since it's merely for the amusement of these simpletons." "You're both being far too gracious." For the first time Marin spoke, her voice touched with humor. "I believe each of you is afraid of losing to the other and tarnishing your reputation." Derek looked aghast. "My lady?" "Marion loves to goad." Wyborn's face wore its usual calm expression. He glanced at Marion's hand as she snatched a chunk of his bread. "Pay her no mind." "On the contrary, I think our lady recognizes a good match when she sees one." Kell turned to Marion who smiled at him. "What do you say, Wyborn?" Stig asked. "Will you and Derek have a go at each other? No weapons. Just hand to hand?" Wyborn shrugged. "I'm on the training field every morning."

"Derek?" Stig's anxious young face turned to the Scotsman. "Only if one condition be known now. When I fight, nothing will be held back. Chieftain or no, this is skill against skill." Wyborn's gaze flew to Derek's. "I'd have it no other way. As you said, I haven't gotten where I am because I can't fight." For the first time Marion felt a shiver of danger creep up her spine. She hoped the men wouldn't take the match too seriously. Kell raised his mug. "Tomorrow then. I'll be taking wagers." "Good to be young." Erik rested his elbows on the table and tore a slice of bread in half. "I remember the days. We've needed some good fun around here." "Satisfied, my lady?" Wyborn asked his wife. "I'll know tomorrow," she replied, causing the others to laugh heartily.

****

Wyborn came to Marion's chamber that evening to continue their reading. He stretched out on the bed with Marion curled up beside him. His scent and warmth stirred her more than she wanted to admit. So many times the urge to touch him was almost uncontrollable. Whenever she met his gaze, her desire was reflected in his eyes. Knowing that he returned her lust made keeping away from him even more difficult, but she would not give in. It was bad enough he had control over everyone and everything. One thing he could not command was her decision about whether or not to go to him willingly. During a pause in reading, Marion said, "I think I should warn you that the others weren't exaggerating about Derek. He's a powerful fighter." "Meaning?" He glanced at her, his annoyance obvious. Most likely he took her warning as an insult to his virility. He was a chieftain and it undoubtedly annoyed him that she might think he couldn't handle a sparring match with one of the warriors under his command. "And I know that no matter what you say, Kell wasn't exaggerating about you either."

"What is your point, Marion?" She sighed. Part of her hoped that Derek would knock some humility into her arrogant husband while another part of her, a deeper part she was trying desperately to keep hidden, hoped Wyborn would win. "It's only for fun, isn't it? So it doesn't really matter." He half smiled and shook his head. "Just like a woman. You incite something and then regret it." "I do not regret it. I just thought I'd warn you about Derek." "It's sweet of you, Marion, but I do have eyes. The man is as strong as a young war horse and I know he must be skilled to have earned so much respect, not only from Raynor, but from the others as well. Yes, tomorrow is only for fun. Do not lose sleep over it." His patronizing tone infuriated her. "Lose sleep? What makes you think that I've ever lost sleep over you? In fact, the only sleep I've lost is what I could be getting right now." "Fine." He placed the Bible aside and walked to the door. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he turned to

her. "You realize you're a madwoman?" "That's only because you bring out the best in me, Wyborn, the great chieftain!" She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. He caught it and smiled snidely, taking it with him as he left the room. "Thank you. I could use another." Once he had closed the door, Marion slammed her fist into the mattress, though it did little to relieve her frustration. Moments later, she slipped from her chamber and down to the hall where Kell and a few of the others were engaged in a game of dice. She called Kell aside so they could speak in private. "You're taking wagers for tomorrow's match?" "Yes, my lady. So far it's an even split for both Wyborn and Derek. This is going to be a fight worthy of entertainment in Valhalla itself." "I want to make a wager." "My lady? This is highly unusual." "I said I want to wager." Marion left no room for argument. "I'm putting my coins on Derek."

Kell's eyes widened. "Either way that's a terrible insult to Wyborn." Marion smiled gleefully. "Yes. I know." "This is no way to punish him for a lovers' spat." "Let me decide the best way to deal with my husband. Now will you take my wager or not?"

****

The sun shone brightly the following morning and the day was surprisingly mild as Marion wandered to the training field, Brenna behind her. The older woman chastised her all the way. "I still can't believe how you goaded the two of them into this match. As if men aren't violent enough." "They would have ended up fighting no matter what I said. As modest as they pretend to be, they're still no better than a couple of he-goats rutting each other over a piece of the mountain. Besides, this is just in fun."

"Regardless, it's still dangerous, and won't you feel guilty if one or both of them is seriously hurt?" "They're soldiers, for heaven's sake, Brenna." Marion raised her eyes in exasperation. "And it's about time someone put Wyborn in his place." "So that's what this is about. You're still fighting against him?" "If you're going to chatter through the whole thing, you may as well go back to the house." With a haughty stare, Brenna followed her mistress in silence. Men had already gathered on the field where Wyborn and Derek practiced swordplay in separate groups of warriors. When they finished, Kell shouted for everyone to clear space for the match. The men formed a wide circle in the field. Marion slipped by the tall warriors, leaving Brenna behind as she made her way to the front so she wouldn't miss a moment of the action. Standing between Stig and Erik, she tried to still the wild beating of her heart. Wyborn and Derek faced each other, both tall, well muscled, and impressive. Derek wore a loose cotton shirt, boots, and tunic. Wyborn also sported a cotton shirt and soft leather breeches that molded to his long, muscular legs. Ragged tendrils of

ash-blond hair framed his square jaw. Marion thought Derek's chiseled features were handsome, but they lacked the animal sensuality of Wyborn's rugged ones. At a signal from Kell, the men began circling one another. Each took a moment to act, gauging his opponent while ignoring the onlookers' bellows to begin. Marion's heart raced and she clenched her fists as Wyborn and Derek attacked almost simultaneously. Derek dodged Wyborn's punch and landed a blow in his midsection. If Wyborn flinched, Marion didn't see it. He spun quickly, the back of his fist striking Derek's cheek. They lunged at each other, blocking and executing punches. Some blows landed while others missed. The quickness of their powerful movements made following them nearly impossible. Somehow, Wyborn shoved Derek full in the chest and the tall Scotsman staggered backwards. Again the two circled each other, their breathing heavy, sweat seeping through their shirts and molding the cotton to their bodies. Derek's face already bore bruises and a cut above his left eye. Blood flowed from Wyborn's lower lip, staining the front of his shirt, yet both men watched each other with calm eyes. Marion's stomach clenched. Suddenly this "game" didn't seem so amusing anymore, though she was the

only one who seemed to think so. The men around her howled like wolves for the kill. Many were laughing. Barbarians, Marion thought. They really enjoy this? Wyborn and Derek stepped close together again, their fists hooking and hands blocking. One of Derek's punches landed square in Wyborn's face, knocking him onto his back. Though stunned, Wyborn kicked Derek's legs out from under him. On the ground, the two grappled. "By Odin, this is good!" Kell chuckled. Marion glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice. "Derek's got him now!" Stig raised his fist in the air. The curly-haired Scotsman sat on Wyborn's chest, one hand squeezing his throat while the other punched his face. Wyborn smashed both palms against Derek's jaw, stunning him before he managed to throw off the Scotsman's bulk. With shocking speed and agility for a man of his size, Wyborn pinned Derek face down in the grass, twisting his hands behind him, one knee pressing against the small of his back. Derek struggled, his green eyes blazing through streams of blood.

"I can hold you here for the rest of the morning, or should we call it over now?" Wyborn spoke so quietly that even Marion, as close as she stood, could scarcely hear him. "You win this time," Derek admitted. "Maybe not next time." Wyborn didn't argue that point as he released Derek. The Scotsman rolled his shoulders and Wyborn swiped at his bleeding lips. Most of the men laughed in good humor, though Marion heard several bickering about the closeness of the fight. "All right. Time to pay up!" Kell shouted above the chatter. Grudgingly, the losers approached Kell. All except Marion. Using her small size to advantage, she tried to slip through the crowd, but Kell noticed her. "Lady Marion!" She shook her head. "Not now. Later, Kell." He smiled, obviously enjoying every moment of her

panic. "But it's time for you to pay. You lost, my lady." At Kell's words, Wyborn's gaze flew to Marion. Not even during the first battle for Ravenhill had she seen such a look of fury in his eyes. "Oh, God," Marion whispered, lifting her dress and running toward the village. Wyborn caught her before she ran six steps. He grasped her slender shoulders, not hard enough to hurt her, but with enough force to keep her from moving. "Wyborn, let me explain." "Explain what? That you bet against your own husband? I've had enough of your insolence!" He picked her up, flung her over his shoulder, and stalked toward the house. Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment as the villagers laughed at her expense. "Show her what a leader is really like, Wyborn!" someone shouted. Her backside in the air, her feet and head dangling, Marion had never been so enraged in her life. "Let her go, you big barbarian!" Brenna hobbled after Wyborn.

"Keep your mouth shut, old woman!" He walked faster and the elderly maid fell behind. "Wyborn, put me down!" Marion punched his back. "This is humiliating!" "Humiliating is having your own wife wager that some other man will outfight you. Humiliating is having food thrown at your feet and a dagger thrust at your belly, then having a puny wench spit in your face! Punch me in the back one more time and I'll drop you in the horse trough. How's that for humiliating?" Immediately Marion went still, tears of frustration burning her eyes. She thought of dozens of horrible ways to repay him for this lack of respect. He carried her all the way through the village where nearly everyone they passed stop working to gawk at the unbelievable sight of the Lady Marion slung like a bag of grain over Wyborn's shoulder. Her teeth jarred with each of his angry steps through the great hall and up the stairs. Wyborn threw open his door, kicked it shut behind him, and dropped her hard on the bed. "You arrogant, obnoxious bull!" She flew at him, her fingers curved into claws ready to scratch the flesh from his face.

He caught her hands and shoved her onto the pillows. "Don't move!" he bellowed, pointing a finger in her face. She slapped his hand away, but remained seated, swallowing the lump of fury in her throat and swiping at the moisture trickling from the corners of her eyes. Damn him! Wyborn walked to the table and poured water from a pitcher into a bowl. He washed the blood from his face and rinsed his mouth. "Whatever possessed you to do that to me, Marion? Have I not been fair with you? Have I disrespected you?" "If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad I lost the wager!" He lifted an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?" "I don't give a damn what you believe! All I know is that it took this much for me to get an emotion out of you, you unfeeling bastard!" "I told you before. I am not a--"

"I know! I know! Your father was chieftain before you and your parents were married in the eyes of the law!" She threw up her hands in exasperation. "What I mean is, at least I provoked some kind of feeling from you. Anger. Wonderful. You don't care if I sleep with other men, you probably have slept with every woman in the village already, but at least I can make you angry!" "What are you talking about, madwoman?" He narrowed his eyes and gestured wildly with his hands. Hair hung in matted tendrils about his face. His shirt was molded with sweat to his powerful torso and his chest rose and fell with furious breathing. To Marion, he had never looked more desirable. It amazed her how one man could destroy her sanity and her entire life! She stood, her arms folded beneath her breasts and more tears threatening to spill. "I mean feelings, Wyborn! Have you got any beneath all that leather and steel? Is a chieftain allowed to feel anything at all?" "I thought I've made it clear how I feel about you." His voice returned to its usual calm, and that made her even more furious. "No you have not! You're always so collected, so disinterested, like a winter that never thaws! Do you even know what it is to feel for a woman? I'd love to

know what you feel about me." "You want to know what I feel about you?" His sapphire eyes sparkled with anger and ... something else? "Yes, I want to know!" "Fine!" In two long strides, he pulled her into his arms, his mouth covering hers. His kiss was rough at first, a release of pent up desire and frustration, then it softened. His tongue traced the delicate shape of her mouth and parted her lips. Instinctively, her tongue met his with long, sweeping strokes. Never had Marion felt anything so wonderful as this kiss. It excited her yet stole the strength from her legs. Her stomach tightened and her feminine parts ached in a manner she had never before experienced. She reached up and tightened her fingers in the damp hair at his nape. His palms slid up her back, warming and caressing her. He drew back slowly. "That's a start," Marion whispered, breathless from the kiss. "It's something I plan on finishing." His gaze held hers with desire and tenderness combined.

No longer did she intend to fight him. This man was hers and it was long past time she claimed him. He swept her into his arms and she took his face in her hands and kissed him even more deeply than he'd kissed her. Tenderly, he placed her on the bed and lay beside her. Marion's hands sifted through his coarse hair. He loomed above her. His chest, a hot mass of breathing sinew beneath his damp shirt, pressed sensually to her breasts. His mouth plundered hers, and her tongue boldly met his in sensual battle. She detected the salty, metallic taste of blood where Derek had struck him and felt a pang of guilt as she remembered her part in provoking that silly fight. How could she have thought such a match could be amusing? How could she have bet against Wyborn? His arrogance had frustrated her so much that she had done everything in her power to challenge him when what she really wanted was to throw herself in his arms and make love to every inch of his magnificent body. Not only that, she'd wanted him to desire her just as much. The moment he'd kissed her, she knew that he did feel passion for her. All the childish fear she had of him disappeared in a lusty haze. He moved his lips from hers only to leave a trail of kisses down her cheek and throat and finally bury his face in her shoulder. His lashes tickled her flesh while

he licked and nipped the sensitive place just above her collarbone. The need to close her eyes battled with the desire to look at him every moment she could. Need won when his hands moved to her breasts, tracing them lightly at first, his thumbs teasing her nipples through the coarse fabric. She reached for his shirt and tugged it upwards, her hands seeking his bare flesh. A sensual, masculine chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Her hands glided over his shoulders and back, savoring the hard muscles beneath sweat-dampened skin. Splaying her palms across his chest, she relished the sensation of the hair roughening his warm flesh. Her fingertips traced the ridges of old scars, then slid downward, pressing soft kisses across his breastbone and over his ribs. He unwound her hair from its braid and slid his fingers through the dark, silken tendrils that hung almost to her waist. "So beautiful." "Not like a rat?" Her voice was a husky, teasing whisper. Brushing her lower lip with his thumb, he smiled slightly and shook his head. "I was angry when I said that."

"I know." Again she kissed him. He slid her dress up to her waist, but she placed her hands over his wrists. Suddenly she felt stupid, ignorant. "Wyborn. I've never been with a man before. Raynor and I didn't..." "I know. In his messages to me, he never came out and said it, but I understood." She wasn't sure if she was angry or relieved. "So the two of you bartered over me like I was a horse? I was a better prize for you if I was a virgin?" He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I don't care what you are, Marion. All I know is from the moment I saw you, I wanted you more than I've ever wanted any woman. You're like a fever, all consuming and unquenchable, but as I said before, I don't want this unless you do. If you're not ready..." The hardness of his legs against hers and the warmth of his bare chest beneath her hands thrilled her so much that the last thing she wanted was to stop touching him. "No, I'm ready. I just don't want to be a disappointment." "Neither do I. You're so small and soft, but full of passion and heat, like a candle flame. I want to please you."

Shocked by his answer, she longed to offer him words of comfort so that they could continue what they'd already postponed for too long. She took his face in her hands and held his gaze. "I'm not afraid of you." Tenderly, he kissed her before tugging off her soft leather boots and slipping her dress over her head. She lay beside him, feeling flushed more from impending desire than inhibition. Her hair covered her shoulders and breasts like a veil. Gazing at her, his eyes darkened with lust. She nodded toward his breeches. "I'm waiting, chieftain." Without hesitation, he pulled off his boots, pushed down his breeches, and kicked them aside. The sight of his long, sinewy legs dusted with dark blond hair made her heart throb with need. His calves were well defined and his thighs curved with powerful muscle, yet what caught her attention most was his manhood jutting from a nest of light brown hair, large and heavy, even in its half aroused state. Being a healer, she'd seen men's privates before, but never one of Wyborn's proportions. She'd said a moment ago that she wasn't afraid, but she briefly wondered if she could take all of him. Was there anything about him that wasn't big?

Her doubts were soon forgotten as his naked body slid onto the bed beside her. His leonine head bent over her breasts and his hair brushed her skin as he took one of her nipples in his mouth and caressed it with his tongue. She gasped, her stomach clenching with passion. Locking her legs around one of his, she was struck by another wonderful sensation, that of his hard, hair-roughened thigh against hers. Her fingers clasped his nape as he moved from one nipple to begin the same sweet torment on the other. Callused palms stroked her hip, then her inner-thigh. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes and arched her head back into the pillow. Her entire body tingled and her legs turned to liquid beneath his skilled ministrations. Warmth spread throughout her belly, setting her very core on fire. His fingers dipped gently between her legs and gathered moisture from her slick opening. With the utmost gentleness, he caressed her most sensitive parts. Sliding down her body, he scored her belly with his tongue before tasting of her delicate folds of flesh. "Wyborn!" she gasped, clutching his hair, shocked by his actions but too lost in passion to even think about asking him to stop. She was panting, her body aflame, her eyes closed. Blood pounded in her ears, rendering her deaf. She could only feel the tender, torturous strokes of his tongue and the tug of his soft lips. When

she thought she would die of pleasure, he slid his body over hers and entered her hot, slick passage with a swiftness that stole her breath. She momentarily rebelled against his entry. He was too large. It was too much. Her hands braced against his shoulders, but he didn't move, didn't so much as breathe until she comfortably accepted him. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, and her neck. He moved with a sensual rhythm that drove her body to a height of sensation she'd never imagined possible. Through waves of throbbing pleasure, she heard the rasp of his breath against her ear, felt the tightening of his muscles and the increase of movement as he found bliss in the ebbing tremors of her climax. Rolling onto his back, he tugged her atop him, his arms enfolding her. She pressed her cheek to his sweat-slicked chest and felt the wild beating of his heart. Finally she lifted her face and gazed at him. Warmth and joy spread through her at the calm, satisfied expression in his eyes. She smiled. "We should have done this much sooner." "We'll just have to make up for that by doing it often." "I won't argue."

"That's a first." He kissed the top of her head as she settled back against his chest and closed her eyes.

Chapter Six

Bodin sat at a scratched wooden table in a tavern that reeked of smoke, scraps, and old ale. Glancing at his reflection in the side of a metal cup, he noticed that his eyes were tinged red and shadowed beneath from nights spent plotting revenge against Wyborn the Indomitable. His hatred of the man consumed him. Each time he closed his eyes to sleep, dreams of a tall, blond warrior with eyes as dark as a midnight sea haunted him. He had destroyed Bodin's strongest fighters, had severed the hand of the finest swordsman Bodin had ever seen, and had bathed in blood land he had been given to

protect, land that he never should have been granted in the first place. Ravenhill belonged to Bodin. He had lived there and worked alongside Raynor. He had lusted after that dark-eyed wench Marion and dreamed of providing her with the carnal attentions her aging husband surely could not supply. Instead of overseeing Ravenhill and taking pleasure in Marion's small, curvaceous body, he lived in exile from the land he had called home for the past five years. He knew that Wyborn had given orders to kill him on sight, should he return. The chieftain was a wealthy, powerful man who wanted to ensure even more power for himself. Some men were given everything, Bodin thought. He was son of a chieftain, given the opportunities for the best life had to offer. Bodin had spent his life perfecting his soldiering skills and earning favor with Raynor, but in the end, even his master had betrayed him. After the battle, he'd sought an audience with the King to tell him that Wyborn, the man to whom he'd entrusted Ravenhill, had burst upon the shoreline like the worst monster in a Norse horror tale. The King had

agreed to send a messenger to inspect Ravenhill to see if Bodin's story was true. Furious that the King didn't immediately send his army to drive off Wyborn, Bodin had spent the past nights comforting himself with strong wine and thoughts of slicing open Wyborn's gut. A skinny, dirt-encrusted man approached the table and tugged out a chair. "Greetings, Bodin Wolftooth." "Who the hell are you?" Bodin slurred. "I saw you at Court. I can understand why you don't recognize me. I'm a forgettable man, but not you, Norseman. Like my master, you are a man of strength and power." "What are you blabbering about, runt?" "I am the servant of a great warrior. A knight. Sir William Blackridge." The man's foul breath hissed close to Bodin's face. "He's the strongest warrior in Britain. A great swordsman, but he has a slight problem. He's the last of his line and has not a coin to his name. His home was destroyed during a raid when he was little more than a boy. Since then, he's done nothing but study fighting. He heard what you said about Ravenhill, and he's interested." "Interested in what?" Bodin drained another mug of

ale. "In helping you take your village back from the Wyborn the Indomitable." "So this Sir William wants payment once we take back Ravenhill?" "You'll have to discuss the details with him, my friend." "Then discuss it I will. Where do I find him?" "I'll take you to him myself. He has been gathering his own army. We stay at the ruins of his family's land." "He has his own land?" "Nothing much left. It was all burned to the ground. Part of the manor house still stands. We use it as training ground." Bodin tossed several coins at the barkeep and stood, swaying slightly. "What's your name?" "Andrew."

"Well, Andrew, this is your master's lucky day. His army just acquired a Norse warrior." Andrew's eyes narrowed between the single heavy line of his black brow. "Can you ride?" "Just lead on, my short friend. We have a battle to plan." A short time later, Bodin stood in a dismal field scattered with the rubble of a tiny village that had stood over twenty years ago. The decaying manor house loomed in the distance, half of it burned to the ground, the other half ravaged by the weather, rutted with holes and overgrown with vines. Bodin noticed a fire glowing inside with several men seated around it. Other men wandered around in the dusk, rolling dice for fun or challenging one another to brawls to squelch their boredom. "He's not with them," Andrew said from behind Bodin. "This way." They walked to the top of a nearby hill. At the bottom, a tall, dark-haired man wielded twin swords. Five warriors attacked him, but the tall man quickly disarmed them. Drawing blood on each, he sent them staggering back to the ruins to suffer through the night. Alone, he continued swinging his blades and shifting

his stances, defending himself against imaginary attackers and appearing to love every moment of the game. Bodin and Andrew waited by a fallen log until the swordsman sheathed his swords and approached. He wore a tunic-style shirt of black over fitted black breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots. As he moved closer, Bodin saw that he was unusually tall. His body was all lean muscle with no flesh to spare. Though his features were chiseled, almost angelic in their handsomeness, the ravaged expression in his pale blue eyes hardened his image. He wore the look of a man tainted by a madness he had long ago stopped trying to control. "Ah, the Norse warrior," the man said in a clipped accent. "How good of you to accept my invitation." "Sir William?" Bodin took a step back, putting some distance between himself and the knight whose lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. "Andrew tells me you're interested in helping me take back Ravenhill." "This was once a thriving village. Not a large one, but pleasant. Then a group of your kind wandered down from Scotland since what they were taking there wasn't enough for them. They killed the men, raped the women and stole everything of value." The point of one

of Sir William's blades stroked Bodin's cheek. In spite of his innate desire to fight, the Norseman knew better. With a chirp of laughter, the knight sheathed his swords and dropped onto the log, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Have a seat. I'd offer to entertain you in the hall, but the maids were slaughtered ages ago." Bodin sat hesitantly, wondering why he had chosen to follow Andrew into this madman's den. Though he didn't doubt Sir William possessed the skill and insanity to kill Wyborn, he also knew that the man could not be trusted. His mind was too far gone. "This chieftain you want me to kill, this Wyborn the Indomitable, what are his weaknesses?" Bodin stared blankly. "Come on, you Norse swine, what are the man's weaknesses?" Sir William's face became serious, the nostrils of his straight nose flaring slightly. "He's a powerful warrior and has never lost a battle. From what I know of his attacks, they're swift and consuming. In our country, our jarl feared that Wyborn would overthrow him." "Jarl? Your king?" Sir William's eyes narrowed. "You're a barbaric lot. Killing and driving off your own

kind. No wonder you have no respect for anyone else." Bodin had no interest in hearing more attacks on the character of his people, so he said, "What do you want for killing Wyborn?" "Want? I want Ravenhill of course." "And what about me?" "You're part of my army now. You'll enjoy the same luxuries as the others. When I make good, so will you." "No." "No?" Sir William's gloved hand reached for one of his gleaming silver blades. "I want something else." The knight lifted a sleek black eyebrow in question. "I want Wyborn's wife, the Lady Marion." Sir William tossed up his hands in exasperation. "Is that all? Take the wench. There are thousands of whores for the taking. If you want a particular one, far be it for me to stop you. But none of us will have anything that we want unless you tell me where to find

the chink in Wyborn's mail. I want weaknesses!" "I honestly don't know. A chieftain can't have weaknesses or else he would never have lived through his first battle." "Everyone has weaknesses, fool." Sir William leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into Bodin's eyes. "We're just going to have to find his."

****

"What's this one?" Marion ran her fingertip over a crescent-shaped scar behind Wyborn's ear. Her half nude body was half sprawled over Wyborn who lay on his back, smiling slightly. "That one's not very interesting. I fell out of a tree when I was five and hit my head on a rock. When we were children, Kell used to say that's where my brains spilled out. The sharp-tongued weasel hasn't changed much." She laughed, not missing the note of affection in his voice that contradicted his words. She touched another

scar on his shoulder. "Arrow wound," he murmured. "Don't remember which battle." She traced a long scar across his biceps. "This one?" "My father. The first week he started teaching me how to use a sword." "Your father?" She couldn't keep the horror from her voice. His tilted his head to one side. "My father wasn't the most patient of teachers, but he made me a warrior." "How old were you?" "Seven. Prior to that I trained with an uncle. He was much softer than my father." "Don't tell me you agree with your father's methods?" Wyborn shrugged. "I'm none the worse for it. So he had a temper. He was a worthy chieftain. He kept order. It's necessary to be strict with soldiers, Marion." "You were seven years old! Your brother is seven. Is that the method you use to teach him?"

"Of course not. Sven is just a child, and he's already much better with a sword than I was." His eyes glistened with pride and Marion couldn't help smiling. "He's more like a son to you, isn't he?" "He and Sonja are the only family I have, except for you." His words filled her with warmth. "Me? It has been so long since I've been part of a family." He drew her to his side and kissed her hair. She touched her lips to the faintest scar on his chest and said, "Tell me about this one and I won't bore you with anymore questions for today." "That was my first battle. Looks like nothing, but it nearly killed me. I'll never forget that one. I remember the trip home on the ship. My father thought I was going to humiliate him by dying after my first real fight." She was aghast. "He said that?" "Using more unpleasant language, yes." Shaking his head, he smiled. "My mother cried for a week."

"I don't blame her." "She wasn't right for him. She was too soft and gentle to be a chieftain's wife." "And me? Will I make a good chieftain's wife?" "You're soft," he stroked her cheek, "but like steel inside." "I never knew him, but I don't think you're much like your father. I'll wager he wasn't half the man you are." She couldn't decide by his expression if he was pleased or disappointed, but she opted for the former when he squeezed her affectionately. "As much as I'd love to lie here with you all day, Marion, there's work to be done." Heat rose in her face. "Heaven knows what the others must think we've been doing." "I'm sure they think we're doing exactly what we've been doing." He stood and pulled on his breeches and a fresh shirt. Marion shrugged on a robe and collected his soiled

shirt from the floor. "I'll see if I can scrub the blood out of this, then I have to help Brenna." Pointing at her, he smiled slightly. "Tonight. Right here. You and I." She nodded, smiling, and watched as he turned quickly and walked out the door. Once he'd gone, she allowed herself a giddy twirl across the room. Clasping her hands in prayer, she raised her eyes to heaven. "Raynor, if you can hear me, thank you." As soon as Marion stepped into the hall, Brenna hurried to her, anger glistening in her eyes. "Are you well, my lady? Did he hurt you?" "No. He didn't hurt me." Brenna stared at her for a moment. She must have noted the dreamy expression in Marion's eyes, for she smiled. "In the middle of the day? You're married to a lusty one. I didn't think he would harm you, but he looked so furious. Not that I blame him. It was a terrible insult you gave him." "I know. I was wrong." "Merciful heaven. Has the man a phallus of gold? I've never heard you admit to being wrong before."

"Brenna! Enough of that sort of talk. We have work to do." Still smiling, the old woman followed her mistress down to the hall. Though Marion's body performed her duties, her thoughts remained on Wyborn. They were a family, he'd said. She smiled at the thought. Hopefully their family would increase. Already she longed for Wyborn's sons and daughters, but they had time for that. An entire lifetime stretched before them, and she intended to enjoy every moment. Of course she couldn't let him know how completely she'd surrendered. Give a man that sort of weapon and he could use it to kill you. Still, she now knew better than to make him too angry. It was late afternoon and Marion was picking through the fields, searching for the last decent batch of herbs before the first frost, when she heard hoofbeats approaching from the village. She squinted, using one hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the setting sun, and noticed Wyborn riding toward her on his horse. Like Wyborn's hair, the animal's mane and tail were coarse, ragged, and wildly beautiful. The rest of its coat was sleekly groomed and well cared for. Though Wyborn wore no armor, only the shirt and breeches he worked in, his sword was sheathed on his back. She

wondered if he ever let the weapon out of his sight. It almost surprised her that he hadn't taken it to bed that afternoon. "He needs exercise." Wyborn stopped the horse beside her and roughly patted the animal's muscular neck. "Want to come with me?" Marion glanced at the nearly full sack of herbs, then back to Wyborn's dark blue eyes. She stood on tiptoe and placed the herbs in his saddle bag. Grasping her upper arm, he pulled her onto the saddle behind him. "I ride early every morning." She slid her arms around his waist. "I love horses." "I know." "You do?" "I've observed all your little routines, Marion. You're under my protection." Though his words touched her, she said nothing as they rode toward the forest in the distance. When the village disappeared behind the hills, they dismounted and left the horse to graze. He took her hand as they walked together. "We're

about ready for winter." "Everything's in order. You're very good at making things happen." "As you are. We'll do well together." "You sound very certain." He glanced at her, his face serious, though his eyes glistened with amusement. "At first I had my doubts, but there's hope for us yet." "As long as you can control your arrogant streak." "I am not arrogant." She lifted an eyebrow. "I speak the truth about myself, as I speak the truth about everyone else." "I can't disagree with that." "If we can get through the winter with little sickness, Ravenhill will be fine." She watched him carefully. His mind always seemed to be mulling over some problem. He took his

responsibilities very seriously, which explained the loyalty of his people. Though she loved his enthusiastic leadership, she considered it her duty to remind him that not everything had to be serious all the time. "There is one good thing about winter," she said. He raised an eyebrow in question. "The nights are longer." "That's true." He smiled slightly. Tugging her into his arms, he dropped onto the grass. Marion straddled him as their mouths sought each other's warmth. She closed her eyes and clutched his shoulders while her legs clasped his waist. It felt so good being pressed to his hard, warm body. Never had she imagined taking such pleasure in a man. One hand buried in her hair, the other pressing her to his chest, he kissed her deeply. She loosened the ties of his shirt and licked the pit of his throat. "Wyborn!" Their eyes opened and their gazes locked. He swore softly, then sat up and looked at Kell who watched them from on top of the hill. Blushing, Marion backed away from Wyborn and tucked random wisps of hair beneath her veil. "A messenger from the King is here to see you."

"I'm coming," Wyborn called. He whistled for his horse, then he and Marion followed Kell back to the village. "I wonder what this could be about?" she asked, slightly concerned. "Believe me, it won't be important." "How can you say that?" "Just a feeling." "I hope you're right." "Trust me." In reply, she tightened her arms around him and enjoyed the feeling of his hard thighs against her legs and his broad back beneath her cheek. In the manor house, Erik, Stig, Derek, and the messenger awaited Wyborn. Dressed in an embroidered tunic, hose, and leather boots, the messenger greeted Wyborn with a practiced bow. "The King has sent me to inspect Ravenhill and see that you're comfortably settled," the messenger said,

then nodded to Marion who stood between Kell and Wyborn. "My lady." "Obviously Ravenhill is thriving," Derek snapped. "We're ready for the next three winters. You can tell His Majesty that." Though his face was bruised and the cut above his eye had been stitched, Derek exuded power similar to Wyborn's. Marion was glad that neither man seemed upset by the earlier match. Like Wyborn, Derek's judgment was harsh but fair. The Scotsman had made plain his approval of Wyborn's leadership, and Marion was glad. Derek's was one of the strongest voices in Ravenhill. With Raynor's finest and most loyal warriors accepting Wyborn, the melding of Wyborn's men and Raynor's would be smoother than expected. "So far I'm pleased with what I've seen," the messenger continued. Wyborn said nothing, but circled the man, his gaze raking him from head to toe in an unsettling manner. The slender messenger remained still under the chieftain's scrutiny, though his eyes shifted uncomfortably. "We had received reports of trouble here, but I've seen

no evidence of it." "From who?" The messenger's eyes widened. "My lord?" "Who gave these reports?" "I'm not sure, my lord. I was only told to come here, tour the village, and speak with you." "You've spoken with me." Wyborn sat in the chair at the head of the long, wooden table. "Now go where you like. Erik will accompany you." "Thank you, my Lord." Wyborn dismissed him with a slight wave of his hand, watching thoughtfully as the messenger followed Erik's hulking form out of the hall. "Who do you think spread that rumor?" Kell dropped onto one of the benches lining the table. "Bodin, I'll wager," Derek muttered. "He's always been more trouble than he's worth." Marion approached the table. "For once I'm glad about your obsession with work. This place has never looked

better. Let the King hear that." Wyborn tugged Marion onto his lap. "Bodin's antics won't get him far. Still he's an annoyance." "Always was," Stig said reaching for an apple from the bowl on the table. "I'm glad he's gone." Marion agreed, happy that her wedding night had been spent, no matter how platonically, with Wyborn rather than fighting for her life with Bodin. She had considered telling Wyborn about the man's advances, but decided against it. Bodin was gone forever. She could forget he existed. All she wanted was to concentrate on her new life with Wyborn. "I have to see to dinner." Marion regretfully left her husband's lap.

****

Wyborn's gaze followed Marion as she left the hall. When he had come to Ravenhill, the last thing he expected was to take such an interest in his new wife. It was as if the gods had created her just for him, and deep

inside he hoped she felt a similar attachment to him. "I'm going for a swim. I'm filthy." Kell interrupted his thoughts. The warrior scratched his matted auburn hair and glanced at Wyborn, Stig, and Derek. "Anybody else?" "I'm for it," said Stig. Derek glanced at Wyborn who said, "Go ahead. We'll see you at the river." Once the others had gone, Wyborn turned to Derek. "What?" "I think Bodin is going to be trouble. He's always been a jealous, conniving bastard. He's wanted Ravenhill for years." Derek paused, and Wyborn waited in silence for him to continue. Though he only knew Derek for a short time, he instinctively trusted the man's judgment. "Even though he has been banished, I don't think we've heard the last of him." Wyborn nodded. "I agree, but unless he can raise an army to rival mine, we don't have any immediate concerns. More of my fleet should be arriving soon." "I've heard you have family coming."

"A brother and sister." "I've tried to lure my brothers down here for a visit. Maybe one day." "How did you end up here?" "I'm a roamer. Always have been. Must be my Norse side." Derek smiled as they walked out to join the others at the river. "Who knows? Maybe someday I'll find a woman interesting enough to make me want to settle down and have seven or eight bairns." "Want to start your own clan, do you?" "Could be. If I do, we'll have to keep trade open between us and hold a festival for a good match every now and then," Derek winked his uninjured eye, "because I still owe you one, chieftain or no." "As I said before. I'll never refuse." "Just give me a few days to get full use of my arms again." Over dinner that night, the King's messenger assured them that he would report back to court on the fine condition of Ravenhill.

"You have an impressive army," the messenger said. "There's no doubt you can defend against an attack." "I'm establishing trade between Ravenhill and my homeland. It will be profitable to everyone involved," Wyborn said. The messenger smiled with approval, as if glad that the tall leader had finally graced him with a complete sentence rather than a few clipped words. "Excellent. His Majesty will be very pleased. With your approval, I'd like to retire. I'll be leaving early tomorrow." Wyborn nodded in dismissal and the messenger bowed before leaving the table. "I think it's about time for me to go up as well." Marion yawned though her eyes looked anything but sleepy. Aroused by her expression, Wyborn nearly had to adjust the front of his breeches. "One more round for me." Stig held out his mug to a maid who filled it. "And me," Kell said. "Wyborn?" Wyborn shook his head slightly and stood, Marion's hand in his. The last thing he wanted was to spend the night drinking with his men when such a lusty look

burned in his wife's eyes. Once they were out of sight of the others, Marion skipped ahead, dragging Wyborn by the wrist into his chamber. She leapt into his arms before the door completely closed. "Can't wait for winter," she said between kisses. Her anxious hands tugged off his shirt. "Longer nights." "If you had it your way, I don't think we'd ever sleep again." He chuckled, lying on the bed as she straddled him, tugging her dress over her head and baring her breasts to his touch. "Unfortunately people can't live like that." She breathed, her hands splaying across his chest, her fingers tightening on his hard muscles. "Wanton little thing." He closed his eyes against the silken touch of her thighs on his hips. "I wasn't until I met you." "Is that an insult or a compliment?" Her fingertips tickled his swelling manhood before she clutched it in her small, warm fist. "What do you think?"

"I think you learn fast." Shifting suddenly, he pinned her beneath him. Aroused by the sensation of her soft curves pressed so close to him, Wyborn's heart pounded. He nuzzled her neck, then licked it tenderly. "Well I know how you admire education," she teased. All conversation ceased as his mouth claimed hers with a deep, possessive kiss.

****

Later than night, the flames dwindled in the hearth and Wyborn lay on his side, his arm draped over Marion who slept curled against his chest like an exhausted kitten. He kissed her hair and thought that for the first time, he was sharing a bed with a woman he cared about, with his wife. He had never imagined marriage would be like this. He'd always assumed he'd enter a fairly comfortable partnership with a woman, but he'd never dreamed of caring for her and desiring her so much that she intruded on his thoughts even when she wasn't in his presence. For a moment, his mind rebelled against the possibility that he was falling in love with

his wife. In her sleep, she kissed his chest and he smiled slightly, warmed by the gesture. Life was unpredictable, and knowing that had always excited him. The relationship between him and Marion was unpredictable, so it was only reasonable that he might possibly fall in love with her. His smile faded as he thought that she might, in time, feel the same way about him. He was a warrior, a leader, and could easily die in battle. Where would that leave her if she loved him? Suddenly he realized that the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He shook his head. Marion wasn't about to fall in love. She was too wild. Yes, she might allow him a certain amount of affection, but never complete and total love. Thrusting aside the part of him that wished for love, he told himself it was a weak, foreign aspect of his soul and better off forgotten. He closed his eyes and tugged Marion closer before falling asleep.

Chapter Seven

Marion awoke with a satisfied smile. Squinting against the narrow ray of sunlight shining directly into her face through the chamber window, she reached for Wyborn. "Oh, damn," she muttered, clenching her fist on the empty bed beside her. "Does that man rise before the sun every morning?" She stretched, her shoulders and lower back aching. Her smile broadened as she remembered the cause of those aches. Rising, she slipped into a robe and washed. She was braiding her hair when Brenna entered with her clothes. "Have you seen Wyborn this morning?" Marion asked. "I rarely see him. According to Kell, he's on the training field by sunrise each day." "You speak to Kell often." Brenna offered a toothless grin. "My niece will be coming to see me in the spring. I want him well

prepared." "But what if he doesn't like your niece?" Marion said, then recalled how Kell had relished her humiliation after Wyborn and Derek's match. "Actually, Brenna, I think introducing Kell to your niece is a wonderful idea. You say she chops a full wagon load herself every morning? I think she's just the sort of woman Kell deserves--I mean, Kell would appreciate." "Yes, and she's not a terrible looking girl either. The lemon juice you recommended last summer worked wonders on her beard." "I can't wait for Kell to meet her." Marion smiled, her nose wrinkling with enthusiasm. Slinging her leather bag of herbal remedies over her shoulder, she glanced at the bed with a sigh of longing for the coming night. She left to begin the day's duties. After spending most of the morning tending those who were ill or injured, she wandered to the training field to meet Wyborn.

****

Wyborn had awakened when it was still dark. Marion lay curled beside him in a small, warm heap. Tenderness filled him when he touched the top of her head so lightly that her hair only brushed his palm. He didn't want to wake her, only have some contact with her before leaving their comfortable bed for a cold training field. He rekindled the fire, washed, and dressed. Glancing once more at Marion, he took his sword and left the house. Except for a random guard and some children milking goats, the village was dark and still. In the stable, he saw to his horse. By the time he rode to the fields, the sun had begun to rise. The other men joined him soon after and they spent the morning training. That afternoon when Wyborn, Erik, and Olav were practicing swordplay, Stig approached with a short, dark-haired stranger who carried a bow in one grimy hand and a quiver of arrows on his narrow back. "This is Andrew," Stig said. "He has no village and would like to stay with us. He's an excellent shot." Wyborn tried reading the stranger's eyes, but they shifted around warily.

"Where are you from?" Erik asked. "Nowhere in particular. I've been on my own since boyhood. Before that, my mother traveled often, but I'm the best you'll see with a bow and arrow." "What made you stop here?" Wyborn asked. "It looks like a good place. Well built and well protected. What do you say? Give me a chance to train with your men?" Wyborn studied him for a long, silent moment before shrugging. "We'll see how you do. Stay close to Stig for now." "Thank you, my lord." Andrew nodded quickly before he and Stig joined one of the groups on the field. Wyborn stared after them and Erik asked, "Something wrong?" "Just watch him." "He seems harmless enough and we're always in need of another good archer." "Do as I say. His eyes are unsteady."

Olav lifted a questioning eyebrow. "It's his hand that has to be steady. What have his eyes got to do with it?" Erik tossed his son a disgusted look and said to Wyborn, "I'll keep a close watch." Wyborn nodded, but his attention focused on Marion who was walking toward them, her braid swinging over her shoulder. Even from a distance, he could see her smile and it warmed him. He walked across the field to meet her. "Good afternoon, my lord." Her polite words contradicted the lusty humor in her gaze that raked him from head to boot. "I was making my rounds and thought I'd see if anyone here needed attention." "I could use attention," he said for her ears alone, "but not out here." Marion's smile deepened. "I'll hold you to that." They stood for a moment, watching the men train. "Who's that with Stig?" she asked. "His name's Andrew. A stray." The small, straggly man let an arrow fly, hitting the

center of a target on a distant tree. "He's a very good archer." Marion noted. Wyborn nodded. "Is something wrong?" He shook his head, his gaze fixed on Andrew who shot another target dead center. "He's very good," Marion repeated, "but I can do as well, if not better." Wyborn raised an eyebrow. "You doubt me?" Recalling the first day of his arrival when she had fought off his men with daggers, he smiled. "No. I do not." "Let me have a few shots." "This is serious, Marion. Men are training for battle." "You're just afraid I'll do better than your warriors. The great chieftain whose wife can outshoot him."

He raised his eyes to heaven, wondering how such a responsible, intelligent woman could, at times, act like a child. "None of us are in any competition with a woman, Marion. A true aim is admirable regardless of whether the archer is male or female." "Then can I have a few--" "Yes, yes, yes." She smiled so radiantly that he could have pulled her into his arms and kissed her right there. Instead he approached Stig, Andrew, and Kell. "My lady," the men said almost simultaneously. "Would you allow her the use of your weapon for a moment?" Wyborn turned to Andrew, noting that he was not much larger than Marion, so he guessed she could handle his bow easily enough. The man laughed, exposing three blackened front teeth. Wyborn's face remained serious and Andrew soon realized he wasn't joking. Hesitantly, he passed Marion the bow. She loaded an arrow, pulled back and released. It hit the target dead center.

Stig smiled. "Excellent, my lady." "I had a worthy teacher." Wyborn didn't miss the look that passed between his wife and Stig. He had already guessed that the young warrior had trained her, and it amused him how they thought it was a secret. A few of the other men, including Stefan, Olav, and Leif had gathered to watch their lady shoot. "Luck," muttered Leif. "Jealous because she's a better shot than you?" Stig teased. "If you're insinuating that I shoot like a woman, I'll cut your belly open." "If that's how a woman shoots, I don't think an insult has been paid," Wyborn said calmly, leaving the two men fuming in silence. Andrew provided Marion with several more arrows, all of which landed in perfect center of her intended targets. Sighing, she passed the weapon back to its owner and thanked him.

"You're more than welcome." Andrew bowed. "It has been an honor to meet you, Lady Marion." "I hope you're happy here," she said over her shoulder as she and Wyborn walked toward the village. She looked up at her husband. "Thank you. I've missed training." "I'm surprised Stig hasn't tried to smuggle you more weapons." Marion's eyes widened with surprise. "What?" "I'm not blind, Marion. Don't try to deny that he's the one who taught you." "Don't be angry with him." Marion touched his arm, remembering how he'd floored Stig with a punch on the first day he'd arrived in Ravenhill. "He did it at my request, so I could protect myself against men like Bodin." "And me?" "I didn't know then what you were really like. If I had--" "You would have still put me through hell."

She looked up at him sharply, then relaxed upon seeing his slight smile. "But you were well worth the wait." He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back of it. Though her hands were roughened by hard work, he found them beautiful and a pleasure to touch. Everything about her pleased him, even her bad temper. Her fiery yet caring nature endeared her to him in a way he had never dreamed possible. "I have to go to the house. Brenna is waiting for me in the kitchen. Wyborn, I thought we might eat in your room tonight. Alone." Nodding, he held her gaze, glad that she wished to spend more time alone with him. He watched as she walked back to the village. Glancing once over her shoulder, she waved to him and he waved back. Wyborn spent the rest of the afternoon with Erik, Kell, and Derek discussing shoreline defenses and the purchase of new weapons. Afterward, he and Derek rode to the shoreline to inspect the repairs on his fleet, then spent the last hour before dinner practicing swordplay on the empty field. It was nearly dark by the time they reached the manor house. Wyborn rebuffed amiable calls from Kell and Derek to join them over mugs of mead while they waited for food to be served.

He thought of Marion in his chamber and wouldn't keep her waiting a moment longer. Wyborn was struck with the scent of flowers as he stepped into his chamber. Marion sat at the table, her dark brown hair hanging thick down her back, her bare feet and slender calves visible between the parted folds of her robe. Two goblets of wine and a tray of food rested on the table, and a tub of warm, floral-scented water stood by the blazing fire. Removing his sword and placing it by the bed, he smiled at her. Never had he imagined sharing such time with a woman. Until Marion, he'd thought of women only as a release for sexual tension, or perhaps for the securing of an heir. What he and his wife shared was beyond his expectations and almost frightening in its goodness. "I thought tonight would never come." She approached him and loosened the ties on his shirt. Covering both of her hands in one of his, he held them to his chest as he bent to kiss her. "How are the repairs on your fleet?" "Excellent. The rest of the ships should be arriving any day now, and by the will of the gods, Sven and Sonja

will be with them." "I'm looking forward to it." "So am I." Once he tugged off his shirt, she splayed her hands across his chest and slid them over his ribs. He nearly groaned with delight at her touch. "The bath is ready for you." "I don't plan on coming to you dirty." He kissed her cheek and stepped out of his boots and breeches. Slipping into the tub, he sighed, enjoying the sensation of the warm water soothing his tired muscles. She brought him a hard cake of soap and ran it over his torso. Wyborn's pulse quickened and his loins ached simply from her touch on his chest. Unable to keep from holding her, he took the soap from her and grasped her wrists, almost tugging her into the tub with him. Covering her mouth with his, he closed his eyes and lost himself completely in the kiss. Her mouth was so warm and tasted of crushed mint. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he stroked her tongue with his. Too soon she slipped from his grasp and went to serve the food, glancing at him every now and then. The way

she looked at him while he washed stirred him so much that he almost jumped out of the water, flung her on the bed, and claimed her like some wild beast answering the mating call of his mate. Drawing a deep breath, he tried controlling his lust long enough to step out of the water and dry himself. He walked to the table and used his foot to slide her chair toward him. Bracing a hand on each wooden arm, leaned down and kissed her. "The food will get cold," she murmured against his lips. At that moment, the last thing he cared about was food. He grasped her shoulders and gently guided her out of the chair. "I'm not hungry." "Since when?" She giggled, but was silenced as he swept her up and kissed her. With her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, she moaned, her tongue mating with his. Placing her on the bed, he parted her robe and gazed at her beautiful body for several seconds. Stroking her full breasts and the gentle curve of her belly, he marveled at how much she meant to him even after such a short time. Leaning closer, he covered every inch of her with kisses. By the time he reached her feet, she was

moaning with need. When he covered her body with his, she clung to him with the urgency of the day's waiting. Wyborn could scarcely control his lust, but he kept it in check, wanting more than anything to please her. "Oh, Wyborn, I feel like I've waited forever to hold you again," she whispered in his ear, her hands caressing his shoulders and back. "Marion." He nuzzled her neck, his heart pounding. He sought to restrain his motions so as not to hurt her. Wrapping her silky legs more tightly around him, she thrust her hips mercilessly, pushing him beyond temptation. "By the gods, Marion, slow down!" "No, Wyborn, I can't wait any longer. I--" She gasped, clutching him as waves of ecstasy broke over her, hurling him over the edge of passion. With several fast thrusts into her velvet sheath, he exploded. The most wonderful weakness flooded his limbs. He rolled onto his back, not wanting to crush her, and tugged her against his chest. One of her smooth legs draped his midsection and he languidly caressed her thigh. "I'm starving."

"I thought you weren't hungry?" she teased. He kissed the top of her head. "I was hungrier for you." "Nice to know I come before roasted lamb." "Lamb?" He disentangled himself from her and walked to the table. Shaking her head in mock disgust, she raised herself on her elbows and glanced at him. "In some ways all men are alike." Ignoring her comment, he sat down and bit into a juicy piece of meat. Marion slipped into her robe and joined him at the table. As they ate, they discussed the coming winter and he asked for her report on their finances since he wanted to purchase new weapons for the coming year. When they'd finished eating, they returned to bed, anxious to continue lovemaking. Later, as the fire burned low in the hearth, Marion lay with her head on his chest, drawing circles on his shoulder with her fingertip. "Wyborn?"

"Hmmm?" "Can I have my weapons back?" She raised her head to look into his half-closed eyes. "No." "Why not?" "Not even a week ago you tried to stab me." "But everything has changed since then!" Now fully awake, he raised himself higher on the pillows as she sat back on her knees. "Some things have changed, but you can't expect me to trust you with weapons again so quickly." "You think I couldn't get them if I wanted to?" "You think any man here is stupid enough to provide you with them against my wishes?" Her teeth clenched visibly and when he reached out to her, she knocked his hand away. "Just like a woman. You think because I've bedded you that I'm blind to your wiles."

"My wiles? You're the one who struts about like a stallion at stud!" "I do not...." He shook his head and said calmly, "There is no discussion, Marion. I will not return your weapons now." "When?" Narrowing his eyes in her direction, he contemplated what she had asked. Truly, he wasn't sure when. She left the bed, pulling on her robe as she walked to the door. "You talk about trust, Wyborn. I trusted you with my virginity and you won't give me back a stinking bow and arrow or even one dagger?" "You said you needed the weapons to defend yourself against men like Bodin. Now I'm here to protect you." "You don't understand at all. I thought what we've shared meant something. I was such a fool." He stood and before she could open the door, he held it shut. "It has meant something."

"No it hasn't," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. Though he disliked seeing her upset, he would not relent so soon. Didn't she see how lenient he was regarding her? He placed a fingertip beneath her chin. "How can I convince you?" "Give me back my weapons." "Marion, I will not be manipulated." "Of course not." She smiled humorlessly. "Mighty chieftain. Sleep with your sword tonight. See how warm it keeps you." She shoved passed him and left the chamber.

****

Kell slipped on the misty grass and landed on his knees in front of Wyborn who knocked the sword from his hand and placed the tip of his blade to his friend's heaving chest.

"You're in a particularly cheerful mood this morning," Kell said as Wyborn lowered his sword and allowed the other man to stand. "I don't need your observations. Just pick up the sword and try to hang onto it this time." Kell gave a mocking bark as he retrieved his weapon. "Wyborn!" Derek approached from the trees, adjusting the belt and drawing his sword. Kell joined Stig, Andrew, and the others for archery as Wyborn and Derek's blades clashed. Though Kell was a better swordsman than more than half the army, he wasn't as skilled as Wyborn or Derek. The chieftain and the Scotsman attacked each other so furiously that one would have thought they were in the midst of battle. Twice during the fight, Wyborn switched sword hands. When the two men finally stopped, both were drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, but Wyborn had released some of the frustration resulting from the argument with Marion the night before. "Could you always do that? Use a weapon with both hands? I saw no difference between the two," Derek

said between gulps of well water. "My father trained me that way. He could do the same." "It's a worthwhile trick to learn. I wouldn't mind mastering it myself." "Then do it. Tonight, when the field is clear, I'll practice with you." Derek nodded, splashing water on his face. "Guess it's back to work for us. I'm going to the shore. They need extra hands with the ship repairs. The air is turning cold fast and the first snow might come early this year." "I'll meet you there," Wyborn said. He walked toward the village, hoping to find Marion. It was her habit to visit him on the training field each day, but today he hadn't seen her. He caught sight of Brenna carrying food and water to the men stacking logs behind the storage shed and approached her. "Have you seen Marion?" Brenna's eyes were full of concern. "Stefan's wife's confinement began this morning and Marion is acting as midwife. It's her third baby, but this one's giving her a terrible time."

Wyborn nodded, fully understanding the old woman's concern. He vividly recalled his mother's death while giving birth to Sven. It had been as messy and horrible as death on a battlefield, and not something he'd wish on any woman. "I hope it goes better for her. Marion's a skilled healer." "She's the most trusted midwife in the village. The girl's in good hands." Wyborn nodded before turning his horse out of the village and toward the coast.

****

Later that night, when he arrived at the house, Marion was still nowhere to be found, but Stefan, surrounded by several empty mugs of ale, sat on the hall floor. Wyborn approached, nudging him with his foot. Stefan glanced at him with drunken eyes and wagged a finger at the chieftain. "Don't ever get your wife with child." A maid approached with another mug of ale, but

Wyborn waved her away and jerked Stefan to his feet. "Leave me alone. I'm fine," Stefan snapped, taking two steps and falling face forward. Wyborn caught him before he hit the floor and hoisted him over his shoulder. Derek approached and shook his head. "Fine behavior. He'll be dragging his arse on the field tomorrow." "Here's hoping he's on the field and not mourning over a grave," Wyborn muttered. "I'll take him to stay with Erik's sister." Derek gathered the unconscious warrior from Wyborn. "It will at least keep him out of Marion's way at his house." Wyborn nodded and joined the others at the table. He ate little and drank less before retiring to his chamber where he sat by the fire and waited for the sound of Marion in the hallway.

****

Marion climbed slowly up the stairs to her chamber,

each step an effort for her weary body. Almost as soon as she'd stepped out of her chamber that morning, Brenna had called for her to sit with Stefan's wife whose labor had begun a few hours before. Even in the early stages, the three women had known something was wrong, and a bad beginning progressed through a long, exhausting middle, and a terrible end. Marion had trained as a midwife since girlhood and had many experiences, but never had she witnessed such a horrible labor where the woman had survived. Even after making an incision to facilitate the birth, the delivery had been next to impossible and the child was born dead. Marion had finally been able to control the mother's bleeding. Only when another woman relieved her had she left the small, hot room and sat on a tree stump outside, gulping the cold night air and trying to forget the wretched odor of blood and herbs. She shivered as she washed her hands, face, and arms in a bucket of well water. Guessing that it was past midnight, she entered the house, longing to climb into her bed and sleep. She wished for a bath, but was too tired to bother carrying the water. When she reached the upstairs hallway, she paused for a moment, placing a hand to Wyborn's door. She would love to crawl into his arms and surrender to his strength, then she remembered they were fighting. With a longing sigh, she went to her room and was shocked to

see a fire burning and a bath half full of water. A single sharp knock sounded on her door. Knowing immediately who it was, she opened the door. Wyborn stood in the hall, fully dressed, and she knew he hadn't yet been to bed. "I was waiting for you," he said, glancing over her bloodstained dress and disheveled hair. "How is Stefan's wife?" Marion sighed, walked to the bed, and dropped onto the edge of it. He closed the door and sat beside her. "I think she'll live. The child was stillborn." "That is unfortunate." "I tried to save him, but...." Marion didn't finish, just shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples. Her head ached so much she could scarcely see. He placed his arm around her and cradled her against his broad chest. "It's like battle. You can't protect everyone." "Such a waste," she murmured, leaning against him, letting him support her entirely. "All that waiting, all

that pain. For nothing." He didn't speak, just held her. At the moment it was exactly what she wanted. "I'll bring in the rest of the water for your bath. I've kept it heating. I didn't know when you'd be back." She looked at him, a tiny, grateful smiled touching her lips. "You did? That's maid's work." "I'm my lady's servant." She began with a giggle that ended in full blown laughter. As if Wyborn could ever be anyone's servant. Casting her an amused smile, he went to retrieve the water for her bath. Once she had peeled off her dress and pinned her braided hair on top of her head, she slipped into the water, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Wyborn brought two more buckets and poured the warm water over her skin. When the tub was full, he knelt behind her, his large hands massaging her neck and shoulders. She sighed, relaxing beneath his touch. He soaped her back, arms, and breasts, yet his touch was comforting rather than sexual. She turned to meet his gaze.

"You're so good to me," she murmured. "Why?" "I treat you as you should be treated. You're a beautiful, caring woman." "I tried to stab you." "That is understandable. You were afraid of me." She kissed his cheek. "I shouldn't have been. But who knew what you were really like? You look so fierce, and you fight like no one I've ever seen." "Exactly. You were intimidated by my prowess." She was about to retort but was too tired to argue with him. Instead she stepped out of the tub and into the robe he held for her. Together they walked to the bed. "Are you hungry? You probably haven't eaten all day." "Right now I'm just tired." She unwound her hair from the braid and combed it with her fingers before climbing beneath the woolen blankets and closing her eyes. Moments later he slid into the bed beside her and drew her to his bare chest. Its warmth felt so comforting. He caressed her hair until her eyes slipped shut and she completely relaxed against him.

"Wyborn?" she murmured. "Yes." "Thank you." "It is my pleasure," he whispered, "my lady."

Chapter Eight

Marion was in love. Completely, hopelessly in love, she thought as she dressed the next morning and walked to Stefan's home. Exhausted by the previous day's events, she'd slept later than usual.

When she knocked, she was surprised that Stefan answered the door, his two-year-old son under one arm, a pitcher of water in his other hand, and dark circles under his eyes from last night's drunken stupor. "Marion, thank God. All this child can say is no, but he grabs for everything, and my daughter is asking me questions about sewing. I know nothing about embroidery. I don't know how Elizabeth can bear it all day long in this house. I tried to cook for her, but there's the washing up to do and the chickens to feed. I have but two hands, woman!" Marion took the toddler from him. She walked into the house and over to Elizabeth who lay in the bed, pale and wan, but looking far better than the day before. "I'll bring you some tea for the pain," Marion told her. "Do you feel you can eat something?" "Not if he's cooked it." Elizabeth glanced at her husband. Marion patted her hand, then looked at the young girl seated in a corner of the room, her face diligent as her pudgy fingers sewed clumsy stitches into a piece of cloth. "Stefan, take your daughter to the house and find

Brenna. She'll bring her to the women who are working on the tapestries. They'll keep her busy. In the meantime, I'll start a stew and all you have to do is watch it." Stefan cast her a grateful look and spoke in a low voice, glancing sadly at his wife. "The child was buried this morning. I went to the field, but Wyborn sent me back here." "It's well that he did. Elizabeth needs help. I'll ask Brenna to stay with you until her health improves, that way you can return to work without concern." "Thank you, my lady." "You stood by me when I needed you." Marion touched his shoulder, remembering that he was one of the few who sided with her against Bodin. "The least I can do is repay in kind." Marion prepared stew and left it to simmer over the hearth. Afterward, she helped Stefan tidy the house and wash and feed his son. She instructed him on how to prepare herbal tea for Elizabeth, then left the family to go about her work. She'd nearly reached the house when Kell approached her on horseback, guiding another saddled horse.

"Wyborn sent me to get you. The rest of the fleet arrived a short time ago. Sven and Sonja are with them." Anxious to meet Wyborn's family, Marion practically leapt onto the second horse. At the shore, the fleet of ships swarming the harbor sent a thrill of fear and excitement through her. She well knew the horror those ram's head ships had once inspired in her land. Wyborn stood in the crowd. He and Derek assisted the others in unloading animals and goods. She rode alongside him and dismounted, her boots sinking into the wet sand. When he met her gaze, she noted the excitement shining in his eyes. "Are they here?" He pointed to one of the ships rowing to shore. A tall, blonde-haired woman and lanky, sandy-haired boy waved to them from the ship's wooden side. Within moments, the ship docked, and Sonja and Sven stomped through the cold, slapping waves. Wyborn met them, ruffling Sven's hair so enthusiastically that the boy winced. He pulled Sonja into a powerful embrace, lifting her feet from the ground. She didn't seem to mind at all, but laughed and squeezed his neck.

Marion watched from a distance, a shy smile on her face. Other than the private moments they shared, she'd never seen Wyborn so openly emotional. This side of her husband was very endearing and she hoped that his brother and sister would be as accepting of her as he had been. She greatly missed being part of a family and was anxious to spend time with her new one. Wyborn finally released Sonja, but kept one hand on her arm and the other on Sven's shoulder as they sloshed through the waves and onto the shore. Marion noted that Sonja was very tall, probably close to Kell in height, and she was beautiful. Her features were strong, her cheekbones sculpted, and her wide-set eyes the same dark blue as Wyborn's. Beneath her tunic, Marion noticed curves generous enough to turn refined men into panting wolves. They paused a short distance from Marion. Sonja narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law and whispered to Wyborn. He smiled, shook his head, and replied. Whatever he said must have pleased Sonja, because she took a couple of long strides and embraced Marion so tightly that she thought her ribs would crack. "Finally my brother wants a woman for more than one night." "Sonja!" Wyborn growled.

"It's true." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I was beginning to think your heart was as cold as your sword." She looked back at Marion. "Too much fighting does that to a man. All Wyborn thinks about is work and war, work and war." "That's what men do." Sven glared at his sister, then looked up at Wyborn. "Right?" Wyborn shook his head, his face once again solemn, though his eyes still shone with happiness. "I feel like I was never rid of either of you." Sonja ignored him and continued speaking with Marion. "I want you to show me everything. I've never been away from home before." "Why don't you take Sonja and Sven back to the house?" Wyborn said to Marion. "I'll help the others unload and meet you there later?" "Can I stay and help you?" Sven asked Wyborn. He nodded. "Who wants to listen to women chatter? You can tell me how your training is coming along. Think you can beat me in a fair fight?" Sven tossed Wyborn a look well beyond his years.

"Yes, if you sit me on Leif's shoulders." "I expect to see you at the field on your own two feet tomorrow." He winked at Marion over his shoulder before he and Sven returned to the ships. Watching the two, Marion smiled slightly. Wyborn's powerful body hulked Sven's wiry, young one. She glimpsed at the sort of father he'd be to their children and felt giddy at the thought. Their children. Even after participating in the difficult birth of the previous day, she was anxious to bear Wyborn's children and finally give him the sons and daughters they'd talked about on their wedding day. Marion was about to speak to Sonja when Derek approached, bowing deeply to the beautiful woman. "I'm called Derek, my lady. Completely at your service." Sonja glanced at the Scotsman from head to foot, her blue eyes lingering on his bare knees. She turned to Marion and asked, "A slave?" His eyes wide, Derek stated, "I'll have you know, I am no slave. Not unlike your brother, I'm a chieftain's son." Sonja raised an eyebrow. "Derek you said your name is? Tell me, Derek, if a good breeze blows up from the

sea, are you bare-assed beneath that skirt of yours?" Marion bit her inner cheek to keep from laughing. She and Sonja mounted her horse and rode off together, leaving Derek staring after them in shock. Marion gave Sonja a tour of the village and introduced her to many of the people. "It's lovely." Sonja smiled radiantly, flipping her thick blond braids over her shoulders. Marion noticed that many men, both farmers and soldiers, cast appreciative looks at her beautiful sister-in-law, but she didn't seem to notice, as she was busy admiring her new home and asking Marion questions. "This is a fine wall you have," Sonja commented during their ride around the village's interior. "It was Wyborn's design. He's done so much since he's been here." "He's like that. Sometimes he can be too serious." "I've noticed." "But once you earn his trust, you'll never have a more loyal protector."

Marion nodded, a slight, sad smile touching her lips. So far she'd done little to inspire his trust, yet in his own way, he had forgiven her for attacking him on their wedding night. "Wyborn and I didn't meet under the best of circumstances," Marion said, and recounted the battle when he'd arrived, but left out the part about her attempt to stab him. After witnessing the closeness between the siblings, she wasn't sure how Sonja would react to a woman who had tried to kill her brother. The woman looked powerful, something that Marion thought added to her beauty rather than detracted from it. Without her weapons, Marion didn't doubt Sonja would have the physical advantage over her. When Marion finished, Sonja stared at her with sympathy. "You've lost many loved ones. I understand. As for this Bodin, don't concern yourself. Wyborn will kill him on sight." "I don't doubt it." "My brother can be very stern, but there is more to him than that. He cares for you." "I know that, and I for him." "Good." Sonja smiled. "Your marriage will be

workable. Oh! I almost forgot. I brought this for you." She opened the small leather purse that hung on a belt about her waist and withdrew a silver cuff bracelet. She handed it to Marion who placed it on her wrist and admired the design. "Thank you. It's lovely." "Welcome to the family, Marion." After leaving Sonja to rest in her room after the long, rough journey, Marion went to the kitchen to oversee the meal being prepared for that night. At dusk, the great hall was filled with people. The new warriors and the old mingled, and Marion spent most of the meal talking with Sonja. Wyborn talked with Derek and the others. Though the highlander didn't speak to Sonja again, he couldn't keep his gaze from her. Several men approached Sonja with offerings of food, but she rebuffed them all. Marion bit back laughter. If Wyborn allowed Sonja to pick her own husband, as he'd intended, he might wait forever. There was much feasting and drinking that night and several brawls broke out between intoxicated men. Still, Marion was learning to overlook such occurrences. Most of the fights were harmless and

ended with mere black eyes, bloody noses, and toasts to the virility of the warriors. "Men are such fools," Sonja whispered to Marion as two young soldiers staggered back to their mead after knocking themselves dizzy. "I don't understand them either." Marion cast a glance toward Wyborn who leaned back in a chair, a mug balanced on one knee, the muscular length of his other leg stretched out in front of him. He looked at her, shaggy tufts of blond hair shadowing his eyes, making them darker, yet she saw lust simmering in them and felt her body catch fire. "Excuse me a moment," Marion said to Sonja and walked toward Wyborn, as if pulled by an invisible cord. She stood before him, slightly above his eye level, since he was seated. Her fingers brushed his as she reached for his mug. "It's empty. Would you like more?" Tossing the mug onto the cluttered table, he buried a hand in her hair and tugged her face to his for a kiss. She closed her eyes, momentarily lost in his lips, until a scream and a crash sounded from across the table. Marion jerked away from him and stared over her

shoulder at Leif who had shoved a serving maid face down on the table, scattering food and spilling wine. Derek grasped the young Norseman by the back of his shirt and threw him off the girl. "There are ladies present, swine!" Leif snarled into the highlander's face, "If you want a woman, go find your own. That one's mine!" Derek glanced at the frightened wench and said, "Funny, I don't see a brand on her." "Clear the floor!" Leif growled, drawing his sword and causing the others at the table to back away. "I want a piece of the Scotsman's skirt!" Clutching his sword, Derek said in a deadly voice, "We'll take this outside." Leif growled and spun around, nearly toppling Marion over a bench. Wyborn jumped up, kicking his chair into the wall and drawing his blade. "This all started with you and your regulations!" Leif snarled at Wyborn. His intoxicated state gave him the courage to voice the anger he'd harbored since the day

they'd arrived in Ravenhill and the chieftain had stopped him from attacking the village women. "No ravaging. Wenches on the battlefield. Christian weddings!" Leif raised his weapon to attack, but before he could fully execute the motion, Wyborn's sword pierced his heart. Leif's eyes widened with disbelief and he gurgled on his own blood before dropping to the floor in a lifeless heap. Marion stared in horror at the bloody carcass, then at Wyborn who turned back to the table like nothing had happened. He glanced at Derek who appeared a little stunned. "Didn't mean to interfere, but I warned him before. I don't like to repeat myself." Derek shrugged and sheathed his sword. "You're the chieftain. I, for one, am not about to argue." Conversations resumed and Wyborn reached a hand toward Marion's cheek. "Are you all right?" Still stunned and disgusted by the slaughter, she moved away from him and he let his hand drop. Sonja strode across the room, stepped over the body that Erik and Olav were about to haul out, and placed her hands on Marion's shoulders. "I'm going," Marion said to Sonja. "I've had about all I

can take of these foolish displays of virility." "You are such a beast!" Sonja snapped at her brother, the only one in the room with the audacity to do so. Wyborn waved a hand in her face. "Silence! Go find yourself a man to marry, if one will have your dagger tongue!" "I will!" "Me!" Several warriors tripped over themselves, waving their hands for Sonja's attention. The woman snorted with contempt, lifted her chin, and followed Marion out of the hall. On her way passed Derek, he muttered, "With a lady so fine, it would be worth waiting for her dagger to dull." Sonja paused in front the Scotsman and smiled much too sweetly before ramming her knee between his legs. "Ow, saints preserve us." Derek moaned in pain, leaning forward slightly and clutching himself while glaring at Kell and Andrew who were laughing heartily. If Marion hadn't been so upset by Wyborn slaughtering

Leif, she would have laughed as well. Together the women walked to Sonja's room. While unpacking her trunk, Sonja said, "Wyborn has always been so stern. I can only imagine what you must think of him, the way he flings men here and there and wants everything his own way." Marion, for some unknown reason, felt the need to defend him. "He has to be that way. If he doesn't keep control over those men, they'll become like wild animals." "They are animals. He just has to have the sharpest teeth." "Sometimes he's so kind, and other times...." "Our father was very harsh with him. He cannot be blamed for all his rough edges." "I heard about your father." "He ruled by fear alone. Wyborn is a better man. He can use reason if reason is used with him." "I know. He does what he must, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Sonja beamed. "You and I are going to get along wonderfully." Embracing her sister-in-law, Marion said, "We already do." It wasn't until several hours later that Marion left Sonja's room. She had intended to avoid Wyborn for the rest of the night. Though she understood his reasons for killing Leif, his brutality offended her. Still, she was unable to pass by his door without knocking. "What?" he barked. She stepped inside and his gaze riveted to her from where he sat at the table. "It's late, Marion. I thought you'd be asleep by now." Silently, she unwound her hair from its braid, took a bone comb from on top of the trunk at the foot of his bed, and began unknotting her rich brown tresses. She sat beside him, staring at him with sultry eyes as she combed her hair. Grasping a handful of her hair, he watched the silky strands slide through his fingers. His touch alone made her heart beat faster. Leaning forward, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. He pulled her into his arms.

When the kiss broke and they stared lustfully into each other's eyes. "You notice I haven't even mentioned it." He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Mentioned what?" "Wyborn, don't pretend you don't know what I mean." She placed a hand on his chest and pushed slightly. "Now what have I done? What is it with you, woman? If it's not one thing, it's another!" "Well it's not every day that a man is slaughtered in the middle of the hall!" "I should have killed him the first day we arrived when he attacked you." "Are you saying that because it was me he attacked or because he disobeyed you?" "Both." "Sonja is right. You are a beast." "Speaking of Sonja, I better have a talk with that brat. The way she humiliated Derek was uncalled for."

"The way she....You're mad. Genuinely mad. Do you think anyone noticed Sonja and Derek? They all were gaping at the dead body in the middle of the floor!" "Marion, you were married for three years. I know Raynor was old, but you must have learned something from him about warriors." "I know more about warriors than I ever wanted to, but no one's like you." She stared at him, unsure of whether she felt angry or awed. Perhaps it was the beast in him that was partly responsible for igniting her passion. Clutching the hair at his nape, she kissed him. Hard. "Take me, Wyborn. Take me to your bed and make me wish that morning will never come." Almost before she could think he guided her onto her back and loomed over her, supporting his weight on his forearms. His warm, soft lips covered her neck with kisses. She tugged up her dress and parted her legs for his prodding knee. Buried beneath his shirt, her fingers bit the hard muscles of his shoulders and back. He discarded their clothes and stretched out beside her. Using his index finger, he stroked the column of her throat and trailed between her breasts down to her navel. She focused on his face, loving the shadows of his lashes beneath his eyes, the stubble outlining his cheek and jaw, even the stern outline of his mouth.

Groaning with passion, he bent over her breasts and captured one of her nipples in his mouth. Marion gasped and clutched his head closer, shivers of delight coursing through her. The sensation of his teeth and tongue on her nipple sent her heart pounding out of control. "Wyborn," she sighed, closing her eyes. He found a sensitive spot just below her breast and tickled it with his tongue while she writhed with pleasure and held him closer, tighter. He moved down her body, licking and kissing her in places she had only dreamed about. Through the waves of desire she realized that she could give him a similar glimpse of heaven. Her thoughts dimmed momentarily as she climaxed under his wet, relentless probing. She gasped, quivered, and finally lay motionless and silent. After a moment, she opened her eyes and straddled his waist, her palms flat on his chest. The scent and texture of his skin fascinated her as she covered his face, chest, and stomach with kisses. Hovering over his manhood, her long hair brushing his stomach, she paused. How much she loved touching and pleasing him. By the tightening of his belly and the quickness of his breathing, she sensed how much he wanted her as well. Without another moment's hesitation, she took him in her mouth. Gasping, he buried his hands in her hair as she

pleasured him, threatening to unman him more quickly than he wanted. He grasped her roughly, pushing her onto her back and thrusting into her with scarcely restrained passion. Teasing him had rekindled her lust and she jerked her hips upward, meeting his every frantic movement. He covered her mouth with his, their tongues slashing and hearts thrumming in unison. Thoroughly content, Marion stretched out on his chest, her head resting on the crook of his shoulder, her legs entwined with his. "Will you ever tire of me, Wyborn?" "No," he said almost before she'd finished speaking. Smiling, she closed her eyes while he tugged a blanket over them. Wrapped in his arms, she drifted to sleep.

****

"Can you believe he asked me to go riding with him this afternoon?" Sonja shook her head, her gazed fixed on Derek who was practicing swordplay with Wyborn. "Of all the nerve. Chieftain's son. Right."

Marion smiled knowingly. In spite of Sonja's harsh words and constant taunting, she recognized lust in the young woman's eyes. None of the other men truly appeared to interest her, but Derek fascinated her sister-in-law. If he hadn't, Sonja wouldn't focus so much of her venom on him. The two women carried water for the warriors, but Wyborn and Derek had yet to approach since they were deeply involved in fighting each other. Marion noted that as the competition grew between them, so did their friendship. She'd never seen Derek take to anyone so quickly, and she somehow doubted that Wyborn ever had either. "But he is a chieftain's son," Marion assured her. Sonja shrugged. "He's one of many." "He is attractive." "I suppose. If you like a man as tall as a draft horse and just as thickly built." Marion smiled in Wyborn's direction. Yes. She certainly did. "So are you going with him?" Sonja stared at Derek's half-bare legs and shook her

head. "Of course not. You and I are going riding." Marion thought fast. "I'm sorry, Sonja, but I forgot that I have to pay a visit to one of the villagers who has been ill." "That's fine," Sonja said almost too quickly, then sighed with feigned disappointment. "I suppose I could tolerate Derek for one afternoon." "Men can be difficult, but believe me, he's one of the better ones." Just then, Wyborn and Derek approached. Marion lost all thoughts of anything but her husband's penetrating gaze. Wyborn took the water from her and drank. Some of it ran down his chin, and he wiped it on his sleeve. "Early tomorrow morning, I'm going hunting with Sven, Derek, and a couple of the others." "Can I go?" Sonja asked. "I don't see why not." "Can she shoot?" Derek glanced at her. Sonja glared at the highlander. "I can outshoot you, I'll wager."

"We'll see about that, lassie." Sonja pulled back the water skin to sprinkle some in Derek's face, but he caught her wrist and tugged it from her grasp. "You have to learn to keep your hands still." "Maybe when you learn to keep your lips still!" "Quiet," Wyborn growled. "You both act like children. If you keep it up, you'll be hunting together so you won't scare everything out of range of the rest of us." Sonja and Derek refrained from arguing, but continued to stare belligerently at each other. "I assume I'll be going as well?" Marion said. Wyborn narrowed his eyes. "Why? You have no weapons." Marion restrained her urge to clobber him. "I'm aware of that. I'd just like to get away from the village for a while and watch everyone else sharpening the skills that I'm losing." After studying her face for a moment, he nodded. "Don't be late. We wait for no one."

Marion bit back a retort. How could she worship him one minute and despise him the next? "We have to get back to the house." Marion jerked the water skin from Wyborn's hand, but he ignored or didn't notice her hostility. "I'll meet you at the stables later," Sonja told Derek. "But I thought you weren't going?" "I changed my mind," she called, walking away with Marion and not once looking back at him.

Chapter Nine

The hunting party left at dawn the next morning and separated into pairs upon entering the forest. Sven had always looked up to Kell and was glad when the auburn-haired warrior volunteered to be the boy's partner. Derek and Sonja, continuing an argument from the day before, were banished together. Still fuming about her lack of weapons, Marion followed Wyborn. "I can't believe you wouldn't let me have my bow just for this morning!" He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I said it was foolish for you to come." "You're the one being foolish and spiteful! As if I'm to believe you're afraid of me." "Afraid of you? You're scarcely bigger than Sven." "Everyone must think you're afraid of me," she goaded. "That's why you won't let me have weapons." "Everyone thinks I'm punishing you for behavior unbefitting my wife." She sputtered, "What do you mean punishing--" "Shh." He raised a finger to his lips. "You'll scare the animals away."

Cursing under her breath, she followed him deeper into the woods. Within the hour, he'd shot a deer. Together they followed the blood trail and stooped by the carcass. When he offered her a knife to help with the cleaning, she looked at him like he'd suddenly sprouted a tail. "Absolutely not. I'm being punished. I'm not allowed to have a weapon." Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she sat on a fallen log to watch him clean the deer. He shrugged, his expression amused. "It was worth a try." By late morning, they met the others. Kell also shot a deer, and Sven two squirrels. Neither Derek nor Sonja had anything to show for their morning excursion, and by the annoyed looks on their faces, they had spent the time bickering and had frightened off their prey, just as Wyborn had predicted. The day turned out to be pleasantly warm, so Kell suggested they go for a swim. Wyborn and Derek agreed to bring the animals back to the village, then join the others at the brook. While Kell and Sven hurried off to swim, Sonja accompanied Marion who wanted to look for some herbs. The women would join the others at the brook

later. "Did you have a nice time with Derek?" Sonja clenched her fists. "He is the most impossible man. I thought Wyborn was arrogant, but he's far worse than my brother." "Somehow I doubt that." Marion stooped to examine some plants growing beside a fallen log. She'd never met any man as arrogant and immovable as Wyborn, yet there was a tender side to him that she loved. "I hate Derek, yet there's something about him that compels me." Sonja took her full lower lip between her teeth. "It's very confusing." "Men are confusing. One moment Wyborn is sweet and the next he's a brute." "Wyborn? Sweet? I was so wrong. You're marriage isn't merely workable. You're in love." Marion grasped Sonja's arm almost fearfully. "Just don't tell him that!" Sonja's smile faded and her eyes shone with joyous

disbelief. "My goodness, you are in love with him." "How can I not be? There's no man like him. He's beautiful, powerful, but he's so much more than that." "This is so wonderful, Marion. I'm happy for you. To be married to a man you love is a rare thing. It's what I've always wanted but I'm sure I'll never have." Marion stared at her sister-in-law. "Sonja, you can have any man you want. Nearly every man in Ravenhill is tripping over his own feet for you." "But how will they treat me after the marriage? Our mother was married to two men who didn't care for her as she deserved to be. I don't want to live like that. I don't want to die giving birth to a child from a man who feels nothing for me." Sonja placed a hand on Marion's shoulder. "Please don't ever repeat that. I love Sven very much, and what happened to her was not his fault." "I understand. I too have seen women abused. Marriage has never been about love, but about land and name." "It shouldn't be. Wyborn has promised not to force me to marry a man I don't approve of." "There are some very nice men in Ravenhill." Marion

grinned. "One is even a chieftain's son." "Don't even think about it. I cannot spend an hour with Derek without arguing with him, let alone spending a lifetime together." "Wyborn and I have already accepted that we argue." "Have you really?" "Well, neither of us are stopping." The women climbed down the narrow, root-strewn path to the brook that ran through a clearing in the woods. In the water, Kell's auburn hair flashed. Sven sat on a rock between the water and a clump of trees. Sonja was about to raise her hand and shout to them when Marion grasped her arm in fear. A movement in the brush a short distance from Sven revealed a wild boar. The animal had yet to notice the boy, but Sven saw it and sat motionless. Kell also froze in the water, too far from his bow to reach it quickly and unable to move for fear of goading the beast's attention to Sven. Sonja drew an arrow, but whispered to Marion, "I'm too far away. If I miss." "Give me the bow." Marion held out her hand and

Sonja obeyed her without hesitation. On the opposite side of the brook, Wyborn silently dismounted his horse and reached for his weapon. Marion, though further away, had a much clearer shot of the boar, though if she missed and angered the animal, Sven would be dead in moments. Her arrow flew and the boar screamed in shock and scurried deep into the wood. Wyborn mounted his horse and kicked the animal across the stream while Kell dashed out of the water. Her heart still pounding from the potentially fatal situation, Marion raced into the clearing behind Sonja. "Are you all right?" Sonja tried to embrace Sven, but he waved her hands away in embarrassment. She turned to Marion. "That was nice shooting." Sven and Kell also congratulated her. When she cast a smug look toward Wyborn, he merely nodded with approval. That night over dinner, Kell, Sonja, and Sven recounted Marion's rescue, inciting several warriors to drink to her and causing Stig to beam with pride. Wyborn, as usual, said little, but Marion felt his gaze upon her throughout the meal. When she retired to her

chamber, she found all her weapons had been arranged on her bed and beside them rested a new sword, just the perfect size and weight for her. Picking up the sword, she smiled, admiring the smooth handle and gleaming edges. This was more than thanks for rescuing Sven. It was a peace offering. Elated, she placed it back on the bed, then entered Wyborn's room without knocking. He glanced at her from where he sat by the fire and held her tightly when she slipped into his arms and kissed him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "No, thank you. I shouldn't have kept the weapons from you." "I didn't think you'd actually give me a sword." "I promised you one. I had it made weeks ago." "When will you start teaching me how to use it?" "Tomorrow." He placed a hand to her cheek, his mouth hovering over hers as he said, "Tonight, we have other plans."

****

Sir William sat on a tall wooden chair that was scratched and worn with age. He stared at the fire built in the center of the ruins of his family's manor house. Flames turned his pale eyes red and cast serpentine shadows on his black hair and beard. Bodin stood beside him. Andrew, dwarfed by the powerful knight and bulky Norse warrior, fidgeted across the fire. "You haven't been at Ravenhill for very long." Sir William's voice was deceptively soft, but Andrew knew the insane temper lurking beneath the knight's reserved veneer. "If I stayed much longer, I might never have had the chance to report back to you. Wyborn has assigned a young fool called Stig to train with me and another older man, Erik, follows me everywhere. They don't easily allow new men into their circle." "Nor would I if I was in Wyborn's position," Sir William reflected. "Go on." "You sent me to find weaknesses. For a time, I was starting to agree with Bodin. He appeared to have none. He trains tirelessly. Like you, my Lord, uses both hands

with equal skill." The slightest smile tugged at Sir William's fine lips. So few men were a real challenge to him. He motioned for Andrew to continue. "He keeps close watch over everything and everyone in Ravenhill. I even saw him kill one of his own men for disobedience." Bodin shook his head, his eyes wild with anger. "I told you. He's completely cold." "Not completely." Andrew picked the space between his front teeth with his fingernail. "He cares for his family. I will go so far as to say he loves them." Sir William couldn't stop the enormous smile from spreading across his face. "Loves?" "Yes, his brother and sister, Sonja and Sven, and his wife, Marion. The one Bodin is bent on having." Bodin unsheathed his sword and Andrew stepped back, but Sir William held up his hand to Bodin. "Put that weapon away. Save it for our enemy." Andrew cast a spiteful glance in Bodin's direction. "Yes, the chieftain and his woman can scarcely keep

their hands off one another. He allows both his wife and his sister to use weapons. I've never seen such indulgence toward women. And his brother is a child. He thinks of him as a son." "A family is a great weakness," Sir William said softly. "I once had such a weakness. I was delivered from it by men like Wyborn the Indomitable." "If you have his family, then you have him. Otherwise, he lives up to his reputation. He fights like the bear he's named for." "I want you to go back to Ravenhill. Look. Listen. Find me the perfect moment to strike, and you will be paid more than you've ever dreamed when Wyborn's power is mine." Andrew nodded and disappeared into the darkness. "You see, Bodin." Sir William turned to the Norseman. "Wyborn is not so indomitable. Every man has a weakness. He has three. Sven, Sonja, and Marion." With each name, Sir William used his thumb to squash one of the baby spiders crawling along the arm of his chair. He settled back against the hard wood and closed his eyes, the slightest smile fading from his lips.

****

"What are you thinking?" Marion asked from where she lay in bed beside Wyborn, huddled close to him for warmth. The temperature had dropped severely from the day's earlier heat, and it had probably been the last warm day of the season. Wyborn held her hand, examining its fragile bone structure in the waning firelight. It was such a beautiful hand, made to heal. Next to it, his looked so large and rough, a hand made to destroy. Yet today she had been the huntress, and her complexity enthralled him. "Wyborn?" "I was just thinking that the more I know about you, the more I want to know. You never cease to surprise me." She smiled. "That's how I feel about you. When I first saw you, I thought you were little better than an animal, then you took my hand. You were so gentle, I couldn't believe you were the same man who'd just tossed aside a herd of warriors like they were unskilled boys."

"I remember thinking I'd never seen a woman more beautiful, all fire, but soft, delicate. Looking at you was headier than drinking strong wine." Grasping her arms, he guided her onto his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck as her hand curled in his hair. He knew by her breathing when she fell asleep, but he was unable to join her for a long time. All his life he had been very certain of everything, but his feelings for Marion were altogether new and disturbing. He'd rarely thought of anything but war and survival. He'd never needed anything else, except maybe Sven and Sonja, but they were the only family he had left. They depended on him and he cared for them deeply. There was nothing he could do about his feelings for them, but Marion was different. He'd never intended to fall in love with a woman, even his wife. Such emotions would complicate life for both of them. He was a warrior and a chieftain. His life was constantly at risk. A love relationship wouldn't be fair, yet it was love he was starting to feel for Marion. At least he assumed it was. Never having thought much about such things, he wasn't exactly sure. He only knew that if she were suddenly gone from his life, he'd miss her. She was irreplaceable. Upon realizing this, a coldness knotted his stomach. He wanted her to like him, but what if she started loving him, too? He could die in battle, be killed at any time. Perhaps now, with Ravenhill, the battles

would be less, so he could settle for longer periods of time. He sighed with frustration. A good, honest fight was so much simpler than dealing with this marriage business. Marion sighed in her sleep and slid her smooth leg over his. He smiled slightly. Battle might be simpler, however it was not as much fun.

****

The following day, after he'd finished training with his men and before he went to inspect the ship repairs, Wyborn, as promised, gave Marion her first lesson with a sword. The day was sunny yet brisk and the scent of autumn hung in the air. Marion dressed in the same man's attire as on the first day Wyborn had arrived. Though he considered her exquisite in a dress, something about her feminine curves in the shirt and breeches ignited his passion. The worn brown leather hugged her legs and buttocks and the swell of her breasts was just visible beneath the billowy cotton shirt. She stared at him across the clearing where he had chosen to train her.

"Good. Always look in your opponent's eyes." He stepped closer and touched her sword with his, guiding her through parries and thrusts, allowing her to become accustomed to the unfamiliar weight and length of the sword. Marion learned quickly and he credited her with disguising any fear or apprehension she felt. Still, he could scarcely believe he was teaching her to use a sword. If anyone had told him months ago that he would be instructing a woman in the art of fighting, he would have cut them open for the insult. Yet, here he was, practicing swordplay with a bit of a woman dressed like a man whom he couldn't wait to take in his arms and make love to. After an hour, Wyborn ended the lesson with the order for her to practice what he'd taught her. He sheathed his sword and glanced at her hand resting upon his arm. "Do we have to go right at this moment?" She gazed at him, her cheeks flushed a charming pink and misted with perspiration from the lesson. By the gods, he could have taken her then and there. She must have seen the lust in his eyes, for she moved closer and slid her palm up his inner thigh. Cupping the growing bulge in his breeches, she smiled seductively.

"Wanton thing," he murmured, taking her face in his hands and bending to kiss her. "Wyborn! Erik has the horses saddled and ready to go to Seastone." Sven jogged into the clearing. Marion and Wyborn immediately dropped their hands from one another, but he cast her a longing look. "Why are you going to Seastone?" "I forgot to tell you. Erik said the smith there makes the best armor and swords. We're going to tell him what we need and if he's as good as Erik claims, maybe I can persuade him to move here." "Why are you dressed like that?" Sven cut in, wrinkling his nose at Marion's shirt and breeches. "I was having a sword lesson." Sven looked up at his brother, his eyes wide. "But she's a girl!" "She's not just any girl and what weapon she learns to use is none of your concern. Speaking of swords, have you been practicing what I taught you this morning?" Wyborn ruffled Sven's hair, and the boy tried to keep from wincing.

"I hate it when he does that," Sven muttered. "Yes. I'm going to practice more, but I have to finish helping Kell with the ship repairs." "Good. The weather is changing, and we won't have many clear days left." "Should I tell Erik you're coming?" Wyborn nodded and Sven raced off. "How long will you be gone?" Marion fell into step beside him along the pathway to the field. Taking her hand, he squeezed it affectionately. "I plan to be back in three days." She tried to conceal her disappointment. What would she do when Wyborn had to leave for weeks on board ship if she dreaded the thought of three nights without him? "Derek and Kell will help you watch over Ravenhill while I'm away." "At least I can amuse myself listening to Sonja and Derek."

Wyborn shook his head. "They don't like each other very much. It's funny that they spend so much time together." "Wyborn, I think they like each other too much, that's the problem." "But they fight.... Never mind." He shook his head. "So do we. Maybe he can persuade her to marry him." Marion recalled Sonja's fears regarding matrimony. "If he does, he better be good to her." "If he's not, I'll break his arms and legs." "Is that your answer to everything?" "It usually works." "I give up, Wyborn. I honestly give up." "Somehow I doubt that." He glanced at her, the amusement in his eyes belying the solemn line of his mouth. Back at the village, Wyborn changed for the journey to Seastone while Marion packed food and water for the two men. Before leaving, Wyborn pulled Marion into his arms and kissed her deeply. She closed her eyes, her

hands clutching the hair at his nape, her breasts crushed against his hard chest. "Remember that for when I get back," he whispered against her lips, kissing her once more before mounting his horse and riding off with Erik. Marion watched until they vanished in the distance. Then she returned to the house. Though Marion joined Brenna, Sonja and a circle of other women who were mending clothes, her mind was not on her work. She thought about how lonely her bed would be without Wyborn beside her. "This is such a mess." Sonja ran her hands over the tattered fabric of the shirt she was stitching. "I think I'm going to make him a new one." "Derek?" Marion half smiled. Sonja looked startled. "How did you know?" "Just a guess, but it's not a bad idea." Marion placed aside the tunic she'd finished hemming. "Wyborn could use another. Between repairs and the training field, I'm surprised he has anything decent left." "That's Wyborn. He cares nothing for appearances."

Marion smiled and thought to herself, he doesn't have to. He's beautiful how he is.

****

A day and a half into their journey, Wyborn and Erik stopped at a tavern to drink some ale and dry off from the constant rain. Wyborn's gloved hand brushed strands of soaked hair from his face as he straddled the bench across the table from Erik. The older warrior growled for mugs of ale. When the serving wench brought their drinks, her gaze raked Wyborn. The whore tried to attract his attention by bending close to him and exposing her ample cleavage in her scandalously low-cut dress. He ignored her, his thoughts shifting between making love with Marion when he returned home and the meeting with the smith in Seastone. A warrior at the next table grasped the wench's skirt and tugged her onto his lap. Reluctantly, she turned her attention from Wyborn to the ugly, pig-faced man who was more willing to spend his coins on the goods she offered. "We should reach Seastone by nightfall," Erik said.

"I hope this man knows his craft as well as you say." "Trust me. He's the best I've ever...." Erik followed Wyborn's gaze to a tall, black-haired man who had been staring belligerently at him since the moment he'd entered the tavern. The man wore a long yet sleekly groomed black beard. His body beneath his tunic appeared lean and strong. Twin swords hung at his hips and his pale blue gaze assessed Wyborn. Both men stared hard at each other, and Wyborn sensed that a brawl was imminent. "Wyborn, did you hear me?" Erik asked. "Wyborn? Of Ravenhill?" The black-haired man stood, revealing height that rivaled the chieftain's. "Do I know you?" Wyborn demanded. The man shook his head, the slight smile on his lips not reaching his eyes. "We've never met, but your reputation precedes you." "And you are?"

"William. Sir William Blackridge. Allow me to buy you another mug of ale." Wyborn's gaze remained locked with the man's. "I've had enough." "What takes you from Ravenhill? From what I've heard, you've only just arrived." Wyborn drained his mug and stood, drawing his brown wool cloak over his shoulders and dropping coins on the table. Erik followed behind him. Pausing for a moment in front of Sir William, Wyborn felt a silent communication pass between them. He controlled the impulse to draw his sword. Sir William's fingers unconsciously brushed the handle of one of his weapons. The knight returned to his seat as the two Norsemen stepped out into the rain.

Chapter Ten

Marion had never thought a mere three days could pass so slowly. Though she had much to keep her busy overseeing the house, her thoughts kept drifting to Wyborn. On the third afternoon she grew anxious, hoping he'd return before dark. If he didn't, then he might be delayed until the next day. Throughout dinner, she smiled and talked with Sonja, Derek, Kell, and Stig, but her gaze focused on the door more often than on her friends. Finally she ascended the stairs to retire, disappointed that Wyborn hadn't come home. Instead of spending the night in her chamber, she went to Wyborn's. Chilly air swept through the room and rain pelted the rooftop. Shivering beneath her fur-trimmed robe, she stoked the fire and climbed beneath the blankets. For a long time she lay awake, watching the flames until her eyes slipped shut. Awakening to the rumble of thunder, Marion's gaze riveted to the tall silhouette by the fire.

"Wyborn!" She smiled, throwing off the covers and hurrying to join him. Not caring that he was soaked to the skin from the storm, she leapt into his arms and buried her face in his cold neck. She shuddered as rain seeped beneath her robe. "I didn't think you'd come tonight. It's so late and the weather is terrible." "As if a little rain would keep me from you for another day." He kissed her before peeling off the remainder of his wet clothes and stood naked before her. Soaked strands of thick blond hair clung to his neck and shoulders. When she placed her hands on his chest, she felt him shivering slightly. "You must be freezing. I'll make you a hot drink." "You're all the heat I need." He grasped her arms and kissed her deeply. Sliding her robe of her shoulders, he let the fabric pool at their feet and pressed her naked body to his. His hands slid down her back and grasped her buttocks while his tongue explored her mouth. The sensation of his manhood pressed hard against her made her tremble more from desire than from the cold autumn night.

Tugging him toward the warmth of the bed, she exchanged smiles with him, thrilled that he was finally in her arms again. Wyborn lay on his back and she stretched out on the length of his body, pulling the blankets over them. "I missed you so much," she whispered between kisses. "Did you miss me?" "You have to ask?" She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. "I like to hear it." "I missed you." He tenderly brushed wisps of dark hair from her eyes. "Then you didn't stray with any cheap wenches while you were gone?" "Why ride a nag when I've got a beautiful filly in my stable?" He rolled her onto her back and kissed her from brow to navel. Rocked by marvelous sensations, she clutched handfuls of his hair as he slid down her body and licked her inner thighs. She closed her eyes to better absorb the sensations of his lips on her legs and tender, feminine flesh.

"Wyborn!" Gasping, she shuddered in climax. His relentless touch drew out her pleasure until the last perfect ripple. Before her heartbeat slowed, he entered her slick passage and drove her back up toward the peak of pleasure. She reached for him, but he held her wrists over her head and kissed her. She writhed beneath him, captured by his body, inflamed by his desire, and warmed by his love. She climaxed twice before he could no longer restrain the urges of his body and poured into her, panting her name and releasing her wrists so that she clung tightly to him in the aftermath of desire. "Are you warm now?" She smiled, settling her head against his chest. He placed an arm around her. "Warm as a summer day." "I forgot to ask you, how was your journey to Seastone? Is the smith going to make everything you need?" "I looked over some of his work. Erik was right. He's a very skilled craftsman. In a few months, a party of us will return for the weapons and armor. We'll need wagons, so the trip will be a little longer than three days."

"Maybe I could go with you then?" He traced her cheek with his fingertip. "We'll talk about it." Suddenly remembering the shirt she had made him, she slipped out of his embrace. Wyborn raised himself onto his elbow. "Where are you going?" After lifting the lid of the chest at the foot of his bed, she withdrew a white cotton shirt and brought it to him. "I made this for you." He smiled, unfolding the garment. "I really needed a new one. I never think of these things until they're ready to fall off me." "I've noticed. You're always thinking about some work to be done. It took me two days of constant sewing to make that. You're so damn big I didn't think I'd finish it before you got back." He tugged her close and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "Thank you, Marion."

"Wyborn." She gazed at him, her heart pounding. "I want your baby." He didn't speak a word, but his eyes mirrored the love she felt for him. Drawing her back into the warmth of his arms, he covered her mouth in a deep, tender kiss.

****

Morning came much too quickly. It was still dark when Wyborn rose from the bed, wishing he could spend the entire day in Marion's arms. Perhaps someday they would do just that, but not now. Groaning softly, Marion grasped his hand. "Do you always have to leave so early?" "I've been gone for three days, Marion." "Then a few more hours won't hurt." She tried tugging him back into bed, but he remained firm, though his grip tightened affectionately. "I want to see what's been happening. Besides, we'll be meeting later today for your next sword lesson."

"Don't you ever have fun?" "Yes, but you dislike fighting in the hall, so we can no longer entertain ourselves during meals." Marion jerked her hand from his and buried her head under her pillow. "Go away, Wyborn. I'll see you this afternoon." An amused smile on his lips, he finished dressing and left the chamber. Truthfully, her plea for him to stay in bed had been almost too tempting, but he had to make sure his plans had gone smoothly during his leave. As he expected, Kell and Derek had done well in his absence, so the ship repairs were nearly complete. In the afternoon, he rode from the shore to the training field. His thoughts drifted to Marion's words from the previous night. I want your baby. Her statement affected him more deeply than he imagined possible. The thought of her carrying his child aroused feelings of protectiveness and joy, but also apprehension, even fear. He thought of his mother, Stefan's wife, and other women who'd suffered, even died, in childbirth. He had faced his own death countless times and gladly embraced the challenge of dying in battle and rising again in Valhalla, but the thought of losing Marion was more unbearable than the worst war wound. He'd rather

have no children at all than risk her life, yet he could not deprive her of something she wanted so much. If she was willing to bear his children, how could he refuse such a gift? "Wyborn!" Derek called, edging his mount beside the chieftain's. "I have to talk with you. There was a raid in Graybrook a couple of days ago. Some small army of outlaws stole supplies and burned the village to the ground. Stefan has relatives there, so I thought you might send a few of us to help." "You may go. Take some men and supplies. Tell the people of Graybrook if they ally themselves to us, they won't have to worry about future attacks." Derek smiled. "Trying to gather more land further down the coastline, eh?" "It will be defended. That should make your king happy." "There hasn't been an organized raid of that size around here in years. I think we should tighten up our own defenses." "Kell will see to it," Wyborn said before Derek turned his horse toward the village.

****

"How long will you be gone?" Sonja asked. Marion glanced at her sister-in-law and Derek who stood between the two women as they packed healing supplies for his journey to Graybrook. Marion noted that Sonja kept her gaze focused on her work and tried to sound detached, but she knew how much Wyborn's sister would miss Derek's company. "At least until the rebuilding is underway." He tugged one of Sonja's long braids. "I'm sure you'll miss me." "You think too highly of yourself. I was just wondering how many weeks of peace I'd have while you're gone." "Don't worry, Sonja, I'll be back in between repairs." Sonja tied up the leather pouch she'd been filling with herbs and bandages and threw it into Derek's chest. He grinned. "How I'll miss the gentle touch of a woman."

When she opened her mouth to retort, he shocked her with a kiss on the lips. "Something to remember me by." He winked and left the room. Sonja didn't speak, but stared after him, gently touching a hand to her mouth. Marion cleared her throat, grinning at the uncharacteristic blush that rose in Sonja's cheeks. "I'm going outside. Want to come?" Sonja shook her head. "Brenna's been teaching me how to make medicine with herbs. There are plants here I'm unfamiliar with." "Good. We can always use another healer, and Brenna is a wonderful teacher. I'll see you later." Slipping on her hooded cloak of black wool, Marion stepped out of the hall's shelter into the brisk autumn afternoon. She rode to the shore where Wyborn had joined the others in the last of the repairs. He and Kell were moving a large wooden plank while Sven, Stig, and Andrew hammered nearby.

As soon as he released his end of the wood, Wyborn turn to her, the raw ocean breeze blowing tendrils of hair across his eyes. "We'll be finished here today." "And a good thing too." Kell wiped his hands on his breeches. "If you ask me, winter will come fast this year. I can sense these things." "It's true." Sven looked up from his hammering. "Kell is always right about the weather. Remember how he guessed about that terrible storm in the middle of summer last year, Wyborn?" "Yes, he's an oracle," Wyborn muttered, both the child and Kell missing his sarcasm, but Marion didn't. She stifled a giggle. "I'm going, Kell. You can oversee everything here and give me a report later. Oh, and keep Sven with you." "Good." Kell slammed his palms together, rubbing them eagerly. "When the work is done, I was looking for someone to go fishing with." Sven beamed, but Wyborn shook a finger at both of them. "Only after all the work is done." The boy continued hammering with newly found enthusiasm and Kell bent to pick up an ax, whispering

to his young charge, "We'll be done by noon. I got up early this morning and gathered a bucket of worms. I was practically stepping on them after all the rain we had last night." Wyborn shook his head with disgust as he led Marion toward his horse. "I thought one child around here was enough." "Kell just makes the most of happy moments," Marion said. "But he's still one of the best fighters you have." "I wouldn't give him so much control over the others if he wasn't, but there are times when I wonder about his sanity." "Why? Because he knows how to have fun once in a while? You could learn something from him when it comes to relaxing." He ignored her and boosted her onto his horse, then mounted behind her and kicked the animal across the sand toward the fields. "I have something to show you." Leaning against the warmth of his chest, she relished the feeling of his arms around her. He guided them over two fields and stopped on the rise of the next hill. A small valley opened below them.

"I was thinking of building another settlement there in the spring." Marion glanced over her shoulder at him. "Expansion?" "Yes. The smith in Seastone is thinking about moving here and some of my men want to bring their families from home." "More Norsemen," Marion whispered. Sometimes she loved Wyborn so much that she forgot what he was. A conqueror. The King had awarded him land and he meant to use it. Had it been a mistake? Would he attempt to take all of Northumbria from within? Perhaps the fears of Wyborn's king in his homeland were justified. "What's wrong?" he asked. "How many more of your people do you intend to bring here, Wyborn?" "As many as it takes to keep the shores peaceful." "If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?" Gazing into her eyes, he touched her cheek. "I've never lied to you before, so why would I start now?"

"Do you want to overthrow the King?" The slightest smile played around his mouth before he broke into laughter. "What's so funny?" "You give me too much credit." He tried to control his mirth, then shrugged. "Actually you don't. A year ago, I might have wanted to take over Northumbria and any other place I could wrap my gloves around. First of all, I'd need a bigger army. Second ... why even mention the rest? I have everything I want or need here in Ravenhill, and my cousin is holding my land back home." Marion sighed, resting her forehead against his chest. "I'm sorry. I do think expanding to the valley is a good idea." "I thought you would." "We'll start on that in the spring, but we can work on my idea for expansion much sooner." Marion lifted her face to his and slid her hand beneath his cloak. He raised an eyebrow, and she said, "Expanding our family." "Ah." He smiled. Marion turned in the saddle to face

him, untying her cloak and wrapping her legs around his waist. Sliding his arms around her, he kissed her deeply.

****

Sir William stood in the small, dimly lit room above the tavern several miles from his family's ruins, much like the tavern in which, quite by chance, he'd met Wyborn the Indomitable. Though he never underestimated anyone, he had been a little uncertain as to the descriptions Andrew and Bodin had given of the man's prowess. After seeing him, he had to admit the chieftain was an impressive-looking man, almost as impressive as William himself. Strength rolled off Wyborn like mist rolled off the sea. His eyes were as steady as the land itself. He isn't a particularly handsome man, Sir William thought. Wyborn's features were far too rugged and his hair as wild as windblown hay, yet the tavern maids had ogled him. Their eyes devoured him almost as greedily as their work-worn hands devoured the coins offered for their attentions.

Sir William's first impulse had been to slaughter the chieftain then and there, but a powerful man with the skill Andrew had described would be no easy match. He might even have bested William. No, it was better to bide his time and ensure Wyborn's defeat. In spite of his patience, the meeting with Wyborn roused William's appetite for battle. The instinctive hatred between him and the chieftain was almost tangible, and since then William had doubled his training. Unlike most other men, pushing himself to his physical limits didn't soothe his passions, but ignited them. Years of anger festered inside him, but he was glad of it. Hatred and fury had made him a force to be reckoned with. One day soon Wyborn the Indomitable would feel the terrifying effects of that force. William had been gathering more men for his army. Though it was not nearly large enough to defeat Wyborn's in an out-and-out battle, he had other, more devious plans. He'd sent some of his best warriors on raids to take what they needed for food and weapons from small villages and recruit more men. The most recent raid had been on the coastal village of Graybrook. Unfortunately, the fool he'd left in charge of the raid had decided to burn the village to the ground after sacking it. He thought the man would have been smart enough to take the village as a barrier, due to its location so close to Ravenhill. If he hadn't needed the

man's skill with a sword, he would have killed him as soon as he'd learned of the burning, but that pleasure would have to wait until after Wyborn was defeated. Still, that mistake along with facing Wyborn for the first time pushed William's temper to shattering. Some form of release was definitely in order. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, my Lord," said the dark-eyed, ruddy-skinned wench who slipped through the door. She tugged the faded yellow veil from her hair and tossed it aside. The wench started undressing, but William snapped, "Don't bother with that." A half smiled played around her lips before she sank to her knees in front of him and pushed down his breeches, revealing the sinewy length of his hair-roughened legs. Like the rest of him, his manhood was long and impressive. She took him into the warmth of her experienced mouth, using her tongue on him. He grew thicker and harder beneath her sensual assault, but the rest of his body remained motionless and his breathing was slow, even. Most men took scarcely any time at all when serviced in such a manner, but William had never been like most men. He stood still, his gaze focused on the dying embers in

the fireplace, his thoughts mostly focused on war, destruction, power, and partially on the sensations flooding his loins. The wench's attack intensified and he struggled to keep his breathing even, holding his desire at bay. His heart beat wildly, but he would get his money's worth from the young slut, as he liked to test his stamina in all ways, not just fighting. The woman on her knees before him had probably pleasured more men than she could remember, but when he glanced at her briefly, her gaze met his with an expression of lust burning in her eyes. After several moments, she began using her teeth on him. This produced the desired effect. He gasped sharply and his breathing grew ragged. Sir William closed his eyes. Pain had always done something for him that nothing else could. No longer able to stop himself, he lunged into her, bracing his hands against the wall to keep from staggering beneath the force of his orgasm. He would have loved to cry out, but allowed himself only a few sharp breaths. Almost before the last tremor ran through him, he pushed her away and hitched up his breeches. Tossing coins on the floor at her knees, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. Andrew waited in the tavern below. The skinny man

approached him, a mug of ale in his hand. "What do you want?" William scowled. "I think I may have found the opportunity you've been looking for." "Go on." "Wyborn's young brother is going fishing in the woods with Wyborn's second in command. It would be the perfect time to capture him and destroy one of Wyborn's best men." "Good." Sir William smiled, feeling even better than when the wench had pleasured him. "We take the boy and Wyborn will follow, leaving Ravenhill vulnerable." "I have even better news." Andrew smiled, exposing his stained teeth. "The Scotsman, Derek, who's almost as strong a warrior as Wyborn himself, has left for Graybrook to lend aid." "Perfect." Sir William clenched his fists so tightly that his short nails cut into his palms. "Take five of my best fighters and go after the boy. Don't kill his guardian, however. Wound him. Send him back to Wyborn with a message. We'll lead him on a wonderful chase while our raiders work on Ravenhill. Oh, and let Bodin know

that the woman he wants is there for the taking, but if he gets himself caught, don't expect us to rescue him." Sir William turned his icy gaze to Andrew. "Go on. What are you waiting for?" "Yes, my lord." Andrew bowed curtly and slunk out of the tavern.

Chapter Eleven

After dinner, Marion and Sonja were sitting in the great hall laughing over goblets of wine when Wyborn stepped in and joined them at the table. Shrugging off his cloak, he reached for Marion's goblet and drank from it. Her gaze focused on his lips, now glossy and dark from the wine, and her belly fluttered with anticipation of the night to come.

Wyborn glanced around the hall and asked, "Where are Kell and Sven?" "Weren't they with you?" Wyborn shook his head. "You mean they haven't come back at all today?" "Back from where?" Sonja demanded. Wyborn stood abruptly. "They went fishing this afternoon, but they should have been back before now. It has been dark for a couple of hours. It's not like either of them to miss a meal." Marion touched his arm. "They probably lost track of time." "Not Kell. I'm going to look for them. Maybe Kell's horse went lame and they had to walk back." "I'll go with you," Marion said. Sonja stood. "Me too." Her pulse racing with concern, Marion hurried to her chamber and changed into riding clothes. Wyborn was right. It wasn't like Kell to be late, particularly when

Sven was in his care. The man might be a jester, but he was dependable. Marion only hoped that it wasn't a serious problem that kept them from returning to the great hall. Outside, Wyborn waited on his horse, another smaller mount saddled for Marion. Erik, Sonja, Stig, and Olav were also waiting, having decided that it would be faster to search in several directions at once. Marion and Wyborn rode into the woods together, grateful that the night was clear and the moonlight shining through the leafless trees made their journey easier. "I'm sure they're fine and there's a reasonable explanation," Marion said after nearly an hour of riding. "When I get my hands on Kell, I'm going to knock him senseless." "They might even be back home by now." "We've been to all the brooks they'd have come to in this area. Let's return to the fields to see if anyone else has found them." Marion nodded, tying her cloak more tightly under her chin and ignoring the frozen tip of her nose. She prayed

that Sven and Kell really were back at the house. After riding through several fields, Wyborn suggested that Marion return home and get out of the cold. She was about to refuse when, in the distance, the silhouette of a man nabbed her attention. She pointed at the figure staggering painfully over the hillside. She and Wyborn kicked their horses toward the him. No sooner had they reached Kell than he dropped at the hoofs of Wyborn's horse. Wyborn dismounted and knelt beside Kell, pulling him to a sitting position. His face was so bruised that it was scarcely recognizable. Blood matted his auburn hair and his right thigh was bound with a torn piece of his shirt so soaked with blood that it dripped onto the grass. "My God." Marion stooped beside him, slicing the hem of her cloak with a dagger and wrapping it around Kell's leg. "Kell?" Wyborn shook the semi-conscious man. "Kell, where's Sven? Kell!" Wyborn gripped Kell's battered arms so hard that the warrior stifled a moan. Marion grasped her husband's arm. "Wyborn, you're hurting him more."

Immediately Wyborn loosened his hold and repeated, "What happened to Sven?" "They took him." "Who?" the chieftain demanded. "We were fishing." Kell's voice, hoarse from the obvious beating he'd taken, was scarcely audible. "I went to the woods just for a minute and when I came back he was gone. He shouted for me and I saw Andrew riding off with him." "Andrew! Damn that skinny little weasel to hell! I knew I shouldn't have let him stay. Where are they?" "I chased them and I was surprised when Andrew stopped. Other men were waiting. All warriors. I fought most of them, but there were too many. Wyborn, you have to believe me." Kell weakly clutched his master's shirt. "I do believe you." "I thought they were going to kill me and by my own shame, I almost wish they had. They told me to tell you that a man called Sir William will be holding Sven and waiting for you."

Sir William! The evil-looking warrior he'd met in the tavern several days ago. He'd sensed something strange from the man, but couldn't place it. "What did the knight want with him?" "I think he wants to fight you. I think Sven will stay alive until he gets you." "Who is this Sir William?" Marion demanded. "Why does he want to fight you, Wyborn?" "I don't know and I don't care. It'll be his death. When I get him, I'm going to cut him open with his own swords!" "I'm going with you." Kell struggled to stand. "If anything happens to Sven, I'll never forgive myself." Marion touched his shoulder. "Kell, it wasn't your fault." "He was under my protection." "Marion's right. There was nothing you could have done alone against so many." Wyborn hoisted Kell onto his horse. They rode back to the hall where Kell was taken inside

so Brenna could tend his wounds. "I'm leaving," Wyborn said. "Not alone," Erik told him. "Erik, I need you here. With Derek gone and Kell wounded, you're the only one I can really depend on to make sure Ravenhill is protected." "Then I'll go," Stig said. Olav stepped forward. "And me." Sonja and Marion also volunteered, but Wyborn glared at them. "Absolutely not. I'll have no more members of my family scattered over this godforsaken country." Marion kept from defending her homeland, realizing that worry caused him to speak so sharply. Wyborn and the men who volunteered to accompany him changed into leather and mail and quickly prepared their horses for the journey. "I'll be back as soon as I get Sven." Wyborn brushed Marion's lips with a hurried kiss before he mounted and led the others from the village. Marion watched as they disappeared into the darkness,

a sick feeling in her stomach.

****

Cold wind nearly extinguished the fire in the half-shelter of the manor house ruins. Sir William leaned back in his wooden chair, one leg draped over the arm while he examined a jeweled dagger he'd stolen during a raid long ago. He'd been so young then, recently disillusioned. After his home had been destroyed, he'd survived on the mercy of relatives who'd treated him as a slave and a whipping boy for their own beloved sons. But he'd learned. He'd driven himself and had stood apart from other wealthier men both in tournaments and in battle. Even after earning the title of knight, he remained poor. A hired sword. He'd profited more by using his skills to take what he wanted with no concern for honor and no care for what others thought of him. He traced a finger along the flat of the blade, then quickly poked the tip and watched a single drop of blood well up on his skin. Glancing at what was left of the stairway, he watched

the men he'd sent to capture Wyborn's brother climb into the ruin and warm themselves around some of the fires. Andrew approached, dragging with him a lanky blond boy who was bound and gagged. The boy stared at Sir William with wide eyes and he credited the child with concealing the terror he must have felt. "So this is the bastard's brother." Sir William switched his position so that his forearms rested on his thighs and he was at eye-level with Sven. "Take off the gag." Andrew winced. "Are you sure you want to do that? Even if you smack him, he doesn't shut up." "Smack him?" Sir William snapped. "Did I tell you to hit him? Where in my orders did I say you could hit him?" Andrew gestured helplessly with his hands. One could never predict what the knight's reaction would be, but anger was the last feeling one wanted to provoke in Sir William. "You told us to capture him, so I assumed anything we felt was necessary--" "Yes, you would think that. Take the gag off." Andrew tugged the gag from Sven's mouth and the boy

said, "My brother is going to kill you." Sir William smiled faintly. "I'm sure he'll try, but that's the whole idea, isn't it? To lure Wyborn into fighting me." "Because you're not man enough to challenge him outright." William laughed. "I like this boy, Andrew. Ill-bred and dirty, but he's got spirit." Andrew smiled weakly, glad that the knight had forgotten his fury from a moment ago. "We have a long way to travel tonight," William said. "The horses are ready. I'll take the boy with me." Andrew nodded and turned away. Sir William stood, towering over Sven. He caressed the dagger with his fingers, then stooped and ran the blade over the child's plump cheek, very careful not to scratch the skin. "You look like a smart boy, Sven. I'm going to untie you, but if you try to escape...." William plunged the dagger hilt-deep into the ground at Sven's feet. The boy jumped instinctively. "That's a promise. I always keep my promises." William grasped Sven's chin in his hand a little too

tightly, not enough to really hurt him, but enough to make his threat clear. "Don't cross me or you, your brother, and your sister will regret it." Sven said nothing, merely glared at the knight with hatred, but when Sir William cut his bonds, he sat silently on the floor by the fire.

****

Wyborn and his men rode for almost three days solid, changing horses often and scarcely stopping to rest. Wyborn was unable to sleep. Rage at Sir William and fear for Sven had made him no better than a starving wolf chasing a deer over a lake of thin ice. The knight left an easy trail to follow, yet he was as elusive as a chip of clear glass in water. The only comfort Wyborn knew was that Sven was still alive. He'd been seen by random villagers and tavern workers. A tall, black-haired warrior traveling with a young blond boy was difficult to miss, and Sir William obviously wanted to be seen. Why didn't he just stop and fight? Where was he leading them and for what purpose?"

"I hate not being able to plan our strategy!" Wyborn snarled one night when his group sat around a hastily built fire. Their horses were tired and it would be another day before they could change them for new ones, so they were forced to rest. "We've asked around about Sir William," Olav said. "Some have heard of him. He was a fine warrior, but secured more profit when he turned outlaw. Apparently money is all he cares about." "He has asked no ransom for Sven," Wyborn muttered. He remembered the brief meeting with the knight and knew Sir William wanted more from him than money. "They say he's insane," Stig added. "Has been ever since he was a child." Wyborn's teeth clenched. The thought of his brother with such a powerful madman was intolerable. Someone who wanted to kill for the sake of killing Wyborn could understand, but not these devious plans, this senselessness! He wished he could have followed with more men, but he couldn't leave Ravenhill vulnerable. He could not risk the safety of his land for a personal vendetta. Hopefully the party he'd brought would be enough to rescue Sven. Sir William might only be traveling with Sven and one other man now, but

who knew what awaited them at the end of the chase? The knight was leading him far from home for a reason. Perhaps he thought his men could attack Ravenhill in Wyborn's absence. Wyborn was glad that his army was so well trained and he had Erik to leave in his stead. The older man was experienced and intelligent. He only wished that Kell or Derek were able to assist him. With luck, Kell would survive his wounds. If not, the death of such a good friend and warrior would be a terrible loss. In spite of his worry, Wyborn missed Marion and longed for her gentleness and strength, but he was glad to know that she was safe in Ravenhill. The last thing he needed to worry about was his wife. She and Sonja were safe and would be awaiting him when he returned. As the men fell to snoring around him, he gazed at the moon and wondered if Marion was somewhere in Ravenhill looking on the same moon and thinking about him.

****

Marion hadn't slept soundly since Wyborn left. She

hadn't felt so frightened and helpless since her family died. Even the loss of Raynor, terrible as it had been, didn't rip at her heart like the thought of losing Wyborn. How had she fallen so deeply in love with a man she hadn't wanted to marry? She spent her days attending her duties in body alone. Her heart and thoughts remained with Wyborn, Sven, and the others. This unknown knight who had gone to such an extreme to gain Wyborn's attention frightened her. What were his motives? Who was he? On the third evening after Wyborn's departure, she sat beside Kell who had suffered from a fever as a result of his wounds. He had been lucky and the fever had broken earlier that day; however, he was still weak from pain and loss of blood. More than his physical injuries, Marion worried about the guilt he carried regarding Sven's abduction. "I should be with Wyborn instead of lying here like a crippled old woman," Kell said, watching Marion prepare an herbal tea for him. "If you don't stop saying that, I'll gag you. You're not to blame at all. Obviously Sir William has something against Wyborn. He and Andrew planned this abduction."

"I never liked Andrew. He was a grimy little snake. If Wyborn doesn't kill him, I will." "Will you stop talking about fighting? All I want is for Wyborn and Sven to get home safely." Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. She hadn't felt like herself of late and blamed her churning emotions on worry over Sven's abduction. "I'm sorry." Kell gazed at her with concern. "Marion, wait." He nearly fell out of the bed reaching for her as she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs to Wyborn's chamber. Flinging herself on the bed, Marion sobbed. What was wrong with her? She had endured hardships all her life. Never had she acted like such a weasel. A knock sounded on the door and a moment later, Brenna stepped inside. Marion wiped her eyes. "Don't you wait for someone to say 'come in'?" "Kell said you weren't feeling well." "I'm fine. I don't know what's wrong with me. I haven't

felt like myself for days. Wyborn's a warrior, right? I'd better get used to worrying about him." Brenna sat on the chair by the bed and patted Marion's hand. "I've known you since the day you were born. I know what's wrong with you, and actually it's not wrong at all." "What?" Marion wished Wyborn was there so that she could hide in his embrace. "When was your last showing of blood?" "Not since before Wyborn came." She smiled slightly. "That's a long time. Do you think...." "I'd say you better forget about stitching tapestries for a while and start with baby clothes." Overwhelmed with joy, Marion suddenly forgot the fear and dread of the past three days. She hugged Brenna and the old woman smiled. "I never imagined it would happen so quickly. I wish Wyborn was here so I could tell him." Marion's smile faded and the feelings of dread rushed back. She prayed that Wyborn would return to her so they could share in the happiness together. "Brenna, please don't tell anyone about this until Wyborn gets back. I don't want

everyone to know before him." "I won't speak a word," Brenna promised, touching a gnarled hand to Marion's cheek. "I'm so happy for you, my lady." Marion smiled, walking to the narrow window. She gazed at the moon and prayed for Wyborn's safe and quick return. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but when she finally turned, Brenna was gone and the fire was low. After undressing and slipping into one of Wyborn's shirts, she climbed into bed and gazed at the ceiling. She would have Wyborn's child. Maybe a son to whom she could give the sword he had presented to her on their wedding day. Maybe a daughter to whom she could pass on all the healing skills she'd learned from Brenna. She couldn't have asked for a better father for her child, or a better husband. Why hadn't she ever told him how much she loved him? Fear and sorrow struck her like a fist. What if she never got the chance? She swore, that as soon as he returned, she would tell him she loved him. All the silly arguments between them meant nothing, not when faced with the possibility of losing him. "I love you, Wyborn," she whispered. "I wonder if you

know how much."

****

Marion and Sonja were riding in the field behind the village when they first heard what sounded like thunder, but as the women looked to the sky, the sun was shining in spite of the briskness of the day. "God help us, Sonja!" Marion pointed to dust rising in the distance and the band of warriors galloping toward Ravenhill. The women jumped on their horses and kicked them toward the village, shouting to the guards on the wall as they rode through the gates. Erik was by their side in a moment. Before they'd finished telling him what they'd seen, he was bellowing orders. Villagers ran for cover while warriors hurried about the settlement, donning armor and grabbing weapons. Inside the hall, Marion and Sonja spread word of the attack and prepared for casualties. Kell was halfway out

the door, struggling into his mail, when Marion threw herself in his path. "If you go out there, Kell, I'll kill you myself!" With a look that was painfully similar to Wyborn's, Kell stepped passed her. She tried a different tactic. "Right now you're fairly useless out there, but I need help with the injured." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Turning me into a nursemaid?" "Only if you have the stomach for it," she taunted, lifting her chin. He smiled. "Wyborn is a lucky man. I promise to help you, Marion, but I have to see if Erik needs assistance on the wall first."

****

The battle was over faster than Marion had expected. With Wyborn's well trained army and careful defense plans executed skillfully by Erik and Kell, they suffered few casualties on their side and quickly drove off the

raiders. Still, some buildings were burned and part of the wall damaged. Erik ordered immediate repairs. As promised, Kell returned to help Marion with the wounded before collapsing into bed himself. Erik had managed to take one of the raiders alive and learned that they answered to Sir William. "It seems he wants Ravenhill any way he can get it," Erik told Marion, Sonja, and Kell. "He was hoping that with Wyborn gone, we'd be vulnerable." "Did he think Wyborn would be so stupid as to leave us unprotected?" Marion snapped, overcome by anger and fear. If Sir William meant to have Ravenhill, then he wanted to kill Wyborn. That explained using Sven as a lure. Her only concern was that Wyborn hadn't left himself vulnerable. "I'm doubling the men on the wall," Erik said. "Even though I don't think they'll be back any time soon." "Still, more raiders might be hiding out there," Kell added. "Better to be safe." "It seems these are the same raiders who attacked Graybrook," Erik continued. "One way or the other, Sir

William must be dealt with." "Maybe Wyborn has already killed him," Sonja suggested. "I hope so," Kell said. I just want him home, Marion thought, placing a hand to her flat stomach that would soon reveal the child she carried. More than anything, she wanted Wyborn to know that child.

Chapter Twelve

During the attack on Ravenhill, one of the storage houses was burned, destroying many of Marion and

Brenna's precious herbs that they needed for healing throughout the winter. Though the weather had been cold for several weeks, Marion and Sonja decided to ride into the woods to see if they could salvage any plants that might have survived the chill. "I don't think we'll find anything of use," Sonja said as they picked their way along the muddy path of leaves and rocks. "I doubt it too, but it's worth a look. Maybe we can send someone to another village to see if they'd be willing to trade or sell some of their herbs." After several hours of fruitless searching, Marion and Sonja stopped and built a small fire to warm themselves before trekking back to the village. Marion sat on a fallen log. Sonja joined her, taking two apples from her satchel and passing one to Marion. While they ate, they watched the flames and inhaled the scent of burning wood combined with fresh autumn air. Marion sighed. "I usually love this time of year." "So do I, but lately all I can think about is Wyborn, Sven, and...."

"Derek?" Sonja nodded. "It's silly, I know." "I don't think it's silly. I wish they were all home, but us wishing for it won't make it happen any faster." "All your wishing won't make it happen at all," said a gruff voice from behind the women who jumped to their feet in surprise. "Bodin." Marion stared at the thickly-built Norseman, her pulse racing with fear. His blue eyes appeared wild. A straggly beard sprouted from his chin and his hair looked like it hadn't been washed since he'd been banished from Ravenhill. "What are you doing here?" "What am I doing here? This is my home, or at least it was until Wyborn came." "What do you want?" Marion asked coldly. "I want what's coming to me, and I'm going to get it." He stepped closer to Marion whose first impulse was to run, but she knew it would do her no good. He was close enough to quickly catch her. "We have plans, Sir William and I, and they begin with killing Wyborn, so all your wishing for him to come home is childish

fantasy. You'll become a woman though, Marion. I'll see to that." Marion backed away from Bodin, keeping her gaze focused on him and trying not to betray Sonja who had used his distraction to slip behind him and stoop for a rock. Lunging forward, he trapped both of Marion's wrists in one of his hands and groped her body with his other. She bit his hand and kneed him hard between the legs, but he didn't release her. "Bitch!" The back of his fist cracked against her cheek. "I told you a long time ago, Marion, you belong to me. I'm going to have you, damn it! One way or the other." Though stunned from the blow, Marion struggled, kicking him hard enough to stagger him. Terror for her life and the life of her unborn child made her oblivious to his biting fingers. Suddenly Sonja leapt onto his back and punched him in the side of the head. She was a much larger and stronger woman than Marion. Bodin fell to his knees beneath her assault, throwing Marion against the log as he did so. "Get off me, you crazy bitch!" Bodin bellowed as Sonja used both of her hands to yank his long hair, nearly snapping his neck in the process. Marion reached for a

rock and struck Bodin in the forehead. He groaned, blood gushing into his eyes. She searched for another rock, but he'd struggled to his feet and ran backwards into a tree, Sonja still on his back. The blond woman's head struck the trunk and she dropped to the ground, momentarily unconscious. Bodin ran toward Marion and she struck him with another rock. He grunted with pain, but leapt on top of her, knocking her face down over the fallen log. If Marion had the breath, she would have screamed from the pain knifing through her entire body, but centered mostly low in her stomach. Bodin rolled with her from the log and pinned her beneath him by the fire. "Now I'll get what's due me." He covered her mouth with his, bruising her, drawing blood. Marion reached above her head, stung by the heat of the flames, and grasped the end of one of the burning pieces of wood. She touched it to Bodin's hair. The bastard shrieked in terror and pain as the fire consumed his hair and spread down his shirt. He rolled off Marion, desperate to put out the flames. By then Sonja had regained consciousness, picked up a fallen tree branch, and began beating Bodin with it.

He clawed his way to his feet, using a tree trunk for support, and stumbled out of the clearing, clutching his head and sobbing in agony. "Marion, are you all right?" Sonja stooped beside her sister-in-law who crouched on the ground, clutching her stomach. "Sonja, I'm bleeding." Sonja glanced at Marion's dress marked with a spreading stain of fresh blood between her thighs. Panic shone in her eyes, yet she calmly tore the hem of her dress to absorb some of the blood. "We have to get you back home." Marion attempted to stand, but fell against Sonja, the pain stealing her breath. "You don't understand," she whispered. "I'm with child." "I have to go for help." Though terrified of Bodin returning or of bleeding to death alone in the woods, she knew Sonja was right. There was no way she could ride home in such condition.

"I'll be back quickly. I promise," Sonja told her before leaping onto her horse and kicking it to a gallop in spite of the danger of the wood's winding pathways.

****

"Wyborn?" Marion whispered, lifting her heavy eyelids and gazing into dark blue eyes. "Marion? Thank the gods you're awake!" Marion's vision cleared. "Sonja?" "Yes." The woman smiled with relief and patted Marion's hand. "You've been unconscious for nearly two days, but Brenna says you're going to be all right. She's gone to make you more tea." "I lost it, didn't I?" "But you're all right. The bleeding stopped, and with some rest you'll be well soon." Marion tried to swallow, but her throat felt too thick.

Tears stung her eyes and she looked at her hands folded tightly over her stomach. "I couldn't wait to tell Wyborn," she said. "There will be others. I'm expecting a house full of nieces and nephews to spoil." "Thank you for all you tried to do." "We're family now." Sonja's eyes misted. "I wish I had done more. If only that bastard hadn't smashed me into that tree I'd be wearing his balls on a bracelet! And the way you set him on fire! You're sure you don't have Norse blood in your veins?" "He won't forget us, that's for sure." "For what little time he has left to live. Wyborn is going to kill him for this. You and I both know it." Marion's smile faded. Yes, Bodin's life was worth about as much as a pig being fattened for slaughter, providing Wyborn wasn't dead already, as Bodin had suggested.

****

For weeks, Sir William led Wyborn and his men across Britain. One afternoon when they stopped by a stream to drink and rest their horses, Stig said, "I don't understand what he wants. He's just riding." Wyborn shook his head. "He's not just riding. I've been thinking about it, and he's heading back toward Ravenhill." "But why would he lead us in a circle?" Olav asked. "He wanted us away from Ravenhill." Rage burned inside Wyborn. Never had he hated anyone as much as he hated the black-haired knight. "He wanted me away, but we're not playing his game anymore." "What are we going to do?" "We're not following him. You're more familiar with this land than I am. What's the shortest way back to Ravenhill?"

****

Sir William watched as Sven cast a string tied to a stick into the brook. He stood beside the boy, waiting for a tug on his own line and ignoring anxious looks from Andrew who gathered firewood nearby. "You like fishing?" William asked. Sven nodded, not looking at his captor. "When I was a little younger than you, I used to fish with my father." "I never knew my father." "Perhaps it's better that way. You can't miss what you never had." "Wyborn takes me fishing. And sometimes Kell." "Yes. Wyborn." Sir William looked thoughtful. "I hold nothing personal against your brother. In fact, we have much in common. Both of us want land that isn't ours." "Wyborn was given the land by your king." "And what about all the land he conquered and killed for?" William snapped, then sighed. "How could I expect you to understand? You're not only a child, but you're a Norseman. Still, you're young. There's so much

you can learn." "Perhaps we should get some sleep, my Lord," Andrew interjected. "We must be moving again in a couple of hours." Sir William glared at his servant. The scrawny man turned away and curled up by the fire. "The little weasel's right." William shrugged, withdrawing his fishing pole and extending his hand for Sven's. The boy passed him the stick, and he tossed the poles aside. "Maybe one day we can go hunting." William narrowed his eyes at the boy. "I always wanted a son." "Then why don't you have one?" Sven asked, genuinely curious. A faint, sad smile played around Sir Williams mouth. "No. It wouldn't be right. Enough of this. Get some sleep." Sven wrapped himself in a woolen cloak and lay by the fire while Sir William stood watch until Andrew woke to relieve him. "I miss home," Sven murmured softly.

"I'm sorry about that, but there's absolutely nothing I can do about it."

****

In less than two weeks, Wyborn and his men had almost reached Ravenhill, however home was not their destination. They scouted every village and tavern in the area until one night a drunken warrior made the mistake of recruiting them into a band of raiders led by Sir William Blackridge. He arranged for them to meet with the bearded knight on the outskirts of the village. Even in his intoxicated state, the warrior had laughed at their desire to meet with Sir William. Then Wyborn's sword had convinced him that the knight would be unwise to risk losing such a fine addition to his army, one who not only had skill, but access to Ravenhill. The meeting was arranged for the following night in a secluded field less than a day's ride from Ravenhill. Wyborn and his small band of men waited on the crest of a hill until they saw a group of riders approaching. "Why did he send so many?" Stig muttered. "There

must be at last thirty of them." Wyborn reached for his sword. "I'm surprised he didn't send more. He must have suspected it was us." "More? We'll be lucky if we can get out of this." Olav grasped his weapon. "I have faith in your skill." Wyborn's gaze focused on the approaching men. The chieftain immediately recognized Andrew amidst the other raiders. "That's him." Andrew told the men, then jerked his horse around and raced back over the hill as the raiders attacked Wyborn's group. Wyborn kicked his horse to a gallop, his men charging behind him and fanning out on either side. Swords clashed, and several men were knocked from their horses. Before long, the fighting took to the ground. The Norsemen fought skillfully, killing and maiming many of the raiders before they were wounded themselves, yet Wyborn's strength and expertise were matched by none. Men attacked him from every angle, but his sword seemed guided by animal instinct as he deflected slashing blades and swinging maces. He

knocked a warrior off his horse and took the man's shield, blocking blows from one side while attacking from the other. He fought off the first wave of men, but others followed. Several sword points found nicks in his armor and a long wound opened in his sword arm before he slashed the stomach of the one who inflicted it. He fluidly shifted his sword to his other hand and continued fighting without missing a step. The raiders dwindled in number. Stig, Olav, and the two other survivors from Wyborn's party defended themselves against the random few left to challenge them. Most of the raiders focused on Wyborn who slashed them like hogs for slaughter. "That's enough!" bellowed a deep voice. The five men surrounding Wyborn backed away and the chieftain himself stopped his sword in mid-swing. Sir William sat atop his white stallion, Sven on the saddle in front him, a dagger at his throat. "Wyborn the Indomitable." Sir William smiled. "You almost live up to your name. Drop your sword." Wyborn shot a hateful look at the black-haired knight.

He ground his teeth and clenched his weapon so tightly that his hands ached. Every fiber of his being defied Sir William's threat and rebelled against throwing down his sword in a fight he was winning. Sir William wagged the dagger beneath Sven's chin. Fear shone deep in the boy's eyes, though his face remained expressionless. Wyborn knew that even if he killed the men around him, he could never reach Sven in time to save his life. With a powerful, angry thrust, he stuck the sword into the bloody ground at his feet. "Back away," Sir William ordered. Wyborn took two steps back. Sir William cocked his head to one side and said to the five raiders left standing, "Have fun with him, but don't kill him yet. I have other plans for him." The men lunged at Wyborn, their fists and feet swinging. He threw two off and punched one onto his back. "If you keep fighting, Wyborn, the boy will suffer for it," Sir William called, the tip of the dagger tracing Sven's cheek, though it didn't break the skin. Wyborn

lowered his hands. A booted foot struck him between the legs while another pummeled his lower back. He dropped to his knees as the flat of a sword struck him in the back of his head, knocking off his helmet. Sven struggled in the saddle, but Sir William sheathed the dagger and held him immobile. They watched until Wyborn's body lay still on the blood-slicked grass.

****

Wyborn awoke vomiting, unaware of his surroundings or the other pains throughout his battered body. After the violent bout of nausea, he leaned against the damp stone wall to which he was chained. The tight manacles on his wrists had already rubbed away some of his flesh. He squinted around the cramped cell lit only by a single torch in the narrow hallway. The crash of tide sounded against the walls. Another cell stood across from his. Inside it, Stig, Olav, and two other men who had survived the battle were bound together with chains. They had dragged themselves as far from the wall as their bonds would allow and stared at him.

"Wyborn?" Stig called. "Where the hell are we?" Wyborn asked, another wave of nausea breaking over him. "Beneath the ruin of a manor house on the coast. From what we could see, it's where Sir William keeps his raiders. He--" Wyborn missed the end of Stig's sentence as he leaned over and vomited again. By the time he'd finished, Sir William stood outside his cell. The knight's fine lips curved into an evil smile. Wyborn dragged a hand across his mouth. "Where's Sven, you son-of-a-bitch." "Quite safe. He's a fine boy for a Norseman, but in time, he'll forget all your barbaric ways." In spite of the pain and weakness that caused his cell to spin, Wyborn lunged at Sir William only to be jerked back when his chains reached their limit. "Goodness, you have a temper," Sir William commented with mock interest. "One would think you'd be quite incapacitated now. I managed to get enough

red squill into you that you might very well be sick to death." The knight paused as Wyborn vomited again, his badly bruised ribs screaming against the sickness. "Red squill is highly poisonous. Perfect to get rid of all sorts of vermin. If it's any comfort to you, Sven is safe. For now. I'm really undecided about what I should do with him. I could keep him with me. He's an amusing child and quite a fisherman." Wyborn pushed himself to his knees, clenching his teeth in an attempt to refrain from being sick again. "You're mad." Sir William scratched his chin with the point of his dagger, the metal making a scraping sound against his black beard. "That is the rumor. Back to Sven. If I don't decide to keep him, there's a cave a short way down the shore. When the tide rises, it fills completely with water. That's how I'll do it, if I decide. I thought you might like to know that." "You're not much of a man if all you have to do with your time is kill creatures weaker than yourself." "Oh, Wyborn, that's just for fun. My real interest is in Ravenhill. I'm riding to the King this very night. Once

he learns of your death, he'll need someone to rule Ravenhill. This is about me getting my due, Wyborn, about paying back Norse bastards like you for slaughtering my family and leaving me to grovel like the lowest, ill-bred slave!" Sir William's voice rose to a bellow that echoed throughout the cells. He grasped the bars with both fists and shook them like he was the one trapped instead of Wyborn. Suddenly his voice lowered and his hands dropped gracefully to his sides. "A couple more things that might interest you. There's a man by the name of Bodin whom you stole Ravenhill from-Please finish. I'm glad to wait." Sir William folded his arms across his chest and paused for Wyborn to be sick again. "You might survive this little ordeal, and when you do, I'll be thrilled to fight you. I would have done so first, but I'm not a fool. I want Ravenhill. You see, unlike you, I don't let my emotions rule me. I don't have weaknesses like a wife and siblings. At least not anymore. Everyone thought you were such a strategist. So cold. So indomitable. But they didn't observe you, as I did. And I nearly forgot. About Bodin. I've promised him your wife. If she isn't warming his bed already, she soon will be. I haven't much of an interest in any specific woman. Becoming attached to one can be dangerous, but Bodin was determined to have her, so how could I refuse him such little payment for access to Ravenhill?"

Wyborn glared at the knight through unfocused eyes before Sir William turned on his heel and left. Throughout the day, Wyborn was violently ill. Across the hall, his men watched him with concern, particularly when he stopped talking to them and could scarcely push himself to his knees to purge. He lost track of time, though above his own discomfort, he thought of his family and everyone in Ravenhill. If he died, he hoped that Derek and Kell would fight against Sir William, even go to the King, before allowing the deranged knight to oversee Ravenhill. Bracing his hands on the ground, he retched, then sat back, trembling. He brushed a hand across his mouth, roused by a thick, salty, unfamiliar taste. Glancing at the back of his hand and saw that it was smeared with blood. Momentary fear gripped him, then he leaned back against the cold wall and closed his eyes. If he was dying, there was nothing he could do about it. He only wished it had happened in battle where he would be an honor to both himself and his people. His thoughts drifted to Marion. If only he knew she was safe. The thought of her at the mercy of men like William and Bodin was unbearable. He had wanted to

give her so much and share his life with her. Marion has told me much about You, Wyborn thought. I've never prayed to or believed in You, but she does. She says You're merciful, so that is why I'm asking You to watch over her, Sven, Sonja, and our people. "Hmmm, I might have given you too much after all." Sir William interrupted Wyborn's silent prayer. He half opened his eyes to look at his nemesis. Dressed entirely in black, except for the twin swords dangling at his hips and a vest of mail covering his broad chest, Sir William glanced at the blood streaking Wyborn's chin and staining the front of his shirt. "I'm on my way to claim what's mine. It has been ... interesting, Wyborn." The knight turned to the men in the other cell. "Which of you fine warriors would like to go free while the others are executed?" They stared at him with hatred, but none replied. "Come now, all I ask is but one favor." Sir William reached toward the wall hidden from the men's view and picked up Wyborn's sword. "All you have to do is take this back to Ravenhill with the message that your master is dead. By the look of him, that will be no lie." Still no one spoke. Sir William raised his voice. "For the love of God, are you all fools? Let me tell you what

has been planned. At dawn you will all be disemboweled and your organs hung out to dry. One of you can walk away and all you'll be doing is carrying a message of truth, because even if your chieftain doesn't die from the red squill, he will be killed along with the rest of you. Now, this is my final offer. Who will take Wyborn's sword home so that his wife and sister, if they're still alive, will have some comfort in his death?" Olav lifted an unsteady hand, his gaze focused on Sir William's black boots. "I'll do it." "Traitor!" two of the men shouted, attacking Olav in spite of their bonds and injuries. "Coward," Stig hissed. "How can you go back to Ravenhill and face your father and Marion!" "They deserve to know he's dead!" Olav said in his own defense. "But he's not dead!" Stig grasped the front of Olav's shirt, his face stark with rage. Sir William called for three guards who held the others at sword point while Olav was untied. "Your horse is with the others," William told him, placing the sword in Olav's trembling hand.

"Why don't you let him take the boy with him?" Stig suggested. "What harm can that do?" William glared over his shoulder at Wyborn. "Because I want him to die without knowing whether or not I've let the boy live." Without another word, Sir William left with Olav and the two guards.

Chapter Thirteen

Nearly two weeks after Marion's miscarriage, her health began to return, though she still tired easily from the fever and other injuries inflicted by Bodin's attack.

One afternoon while helping Brenna prepare some herbal remedies, she thought about the attack, as she often did. She had been left with a long scar on her cheek where a branch had cut her during the scuffle with Bodin. Though Brenna had stitched the wound carefully, Marion would bear the scar for life. She wondered what Wyborn would think when he saw it? Not that such a thing mattered. Stepping out of the kitchen and into the great hall, she was stunned to see Olav surrounded by Erik, Kell, Brenna. The young man's face was beaten and his clothes shredded and bloody. Kell offered him a chair, which he dropped into. At the table, Sonja wept, her face buried in her hands. At that moment, Marion forgot to breathe. She approached as if in a nightmare. "I can't believe it. I can't," Kell repeated. "All of them are dead?" Erik said. Olav nodded. He was the first to notice Marion as she approached the table, and he averted his gaze from her. "Lady Marion, I'm sorry." he said. "Wyborn?" She could scarcely believe the steadiness of her voice. Her entire body felt numb and her mind

rebelled against the reality of his death. "Sven?" Sonja looked up, tears streaking her face. "I ... I don't know. I didn't see him," Olav told her. Kell placed Wyborn's bloodstained sword on the table. Marion touched the handle, remembering how Wyborn had let her hold it on the first day they'd met. "He died fighting?" Olav nodded. "I've never seen anyone fight as he did, my lady." "Good. It's how he would have wanted to die." Overwhelmed by grief, she dropped onto the bench, placed her face on the handle of the sword, and wept. Never had she felt such emptiness. Wyborn's loss was terrible enough, but she might have had the comfort of his child, if not for the miscarriage. Now she had nothing of her husband except for a few short, beautiful memories. Marion wasn't aware of anything but her own grief until Sonja embraced her. "I'm not going to remarry. I don't care what the King orders or where I have to go."

"You'll come home with me," Sonja told her. "Kell will take us." The women looked at the warrior who, though dry-eyed, appeared almost as grief-stricken as they were. "Of course I will." Kell turned to the others. "I think it's time we sent for Derek. He has to know what's happened." "I agree," Erik nodded. "If we're going to defend ourselves against Sir William, we'll need all the help we can get."

****

It had been hours since Wyborn last moved. The bouts of nausea had finally stopped and, as if dead, his body sagged against the mildewed wall. When a guard stopped by several moments later, he unlocked the door of Wyborn's cell and nudged the chieftain with his foot. The guard swore under his breath. "Now I have to lug

his arse out of here." He turned to leave the cell and would have shouted with surprise had his breath not been cut off by the chain that fastened Wyborn to the wall. The guard's gloved hands tried to rip the chain from his neck, but Wyborn's grip was immovable, even when the man kicked backwards at him, jabbing with his elbows in desperation. In the other cell, Wyborn's men jumped to their feet, pulling as far as their chains would allow, their eyes wide with hope. Wyborn had spent the past few hours gathering what was left of his strength. While there was till a breath left in his body, he would not surrender to Sir William's plans. Too many people depended on his survival. Wrestling the raider to his knees, he snapped his neck. The man fell in a lifeless heap. Panting from the struggle, Wyborn wasted no time before taking the keys and freeing himself, then his men. Stig smiled. "We thought you were dead for sure." "I don't plan on dying before I kill that son-of-a-bitch," Wyborn croaked, hoarse from hours of constant vomiting.

"What are we going to do once we get out of here? We have no weapons, no horses, and we don't know how many men are left up there," Stig continued. "When we get outside, disperse. Find the safest way out and head for Ravenhill. I'm going to find that cave and see if Sven is there. If he's not, I'll have to look him, then I'll meet you at home." Stig shook his head. "I, for one, am not going anywhere unless you're with us." The other men seconded Stig. Their loyalty touched Wyborn more than he imagined possible. They were good friends and he would never forget their unfaltering support. The raider Wyborn had killed carried a sword and two daggers, which the chieftain gave to his men. He led the way through the narrow tunnel and up several muddy steps leading to the back of the ruin. Two more guards were seated on the ground. One of Wyborn's men handed the chieftain a dagger. He and Stig silently cut the raiders' throats and took their swords. One of the raiders also had a long whip about his waist, so Wyborn took that as well. Far in the distance, several men sat around a fire. They

didn't notice as the four Norsemen followed the shadows to the shore. "I think I know the caves he's talking about," Stig whispered. "I remember seeing them when we were brought in." Stig took the lead until they reached the caves. The moon shone brightly, reflecting like strands of silk on the black water. While the two other Norsemen kept watch, Wyborn and Stig climbed down into the caves that were already half filled with seawater. The rough tide splashed against them, drenching them in frigid waves. Wyborn called for Sven, but there was no reply. As they moved deeper into the cave, the walls completely blocked the moonlight. The men could only feel around. Rocks scraped their hands and arms, but they didn't leave until every corner and crevice was searched. Finally, they emerged at the end of the tunnel. "He wasn't there," Stig said, his teeth chattering in the cold. Wyborn nodded, also half frozen, yet before leaving

the water, he washed the blood and vomit from his skin and clothes and rinsed his mouth. "He must be in the ruin," Wyborn said as they met the others on shore. "Stig, come with me. You two, see if you can find our horses. If any one of us is discovered, split up and head for Ravenhill." Wyborn and Stig returned the ruin, neither mentioning the consequences if they were caught. There were many jagged edges to what few walls were left in the manor house. Wyborn motioned for Stig to follow him onto the roof where they looked down at the small groups of men seated around two dying fires. Most were snoring loudly and stretched out on the ground. Sven sat in a far corner, wedged between a broken table and a moss-covered wall. His arms were wrapped around his legs and his face bowed over his knees. Wyborn found a loose pebble on the roof and tossed it. It bounced off Sven's shoulder and the boy looked around. Wyborn flung another pebble. This time Sven looked up, excitement crossing his features. Wyborn raised a finger to his lips, and Sven became serious once again. The boy approached the raider closest to him and tugged on the man's arm. "What do you want?"

"I need to go outside." "Hold it till morning." "I can't." The raider cursed and grasped Sven's arm roughly, but not enough to really hurt him. Sir William had made it clear that no one was to abuse the boy. Earlier, one of the raiders in a drunken stupor had made the mistake of slapping Sven. Sir William had almost cut the man's head completely off with one of the short, sharp swords always hanging at his hips. Still, Sir William was miles away. As long as he didn't make any obvious wounds on the Norse brat, he would never be found out. He dragged Sven outside behind the ruin. Wyborn climbed halfway down from the roof and leapt on the man, killing him with the stolen sword as they struck the ground. Moments later, the two warriors Wyborn had sent off approached. "The horses are grazing in a field over that hill," one of the men said. "Of course we'll have no saddles," said the other.

"The last thing I care about is whether or not I have a damn saddle," Wyborn muttered. "Let's go." It was nearly dawn when they reached the horses. Wyborn almost thought they might have a clean escape until two raiders, early risers, walked over the hill and noticed the prisoners. The raiders bellowed for their companions. "Go! Now!" Wyborn ordered. The men jumped onto the horses and kicked them to a gallop. Stig threw a dagger at the raider who charged at them with his sword drawn. The man dropped to the field. Stig called to one of his companions to give him another dagger, but he wasn't in time. The raider was armed with a cross bow and before Stig's dagger reached him, he'd fired at Wyborn. Grunting with pain, Wyborn staggered when the arrow struck him in his upper chest, just below his left shoulder. "Take him," Wyborn pushed Sven toward Stig's horse. The young man lifted the boy onto the saddle and galloped away. Wyborn grasped the arrow's wooden stem and broke it off before pulling himself onto his own horse and following his men. Dawn was breaking and very soon

the rest of the raiders would know of the prisoners' escape. It was a straight ride through open field all the way back to Ravenhill, and Wyborn hoped they could outrun the raiders.

****

Long after the rest of the village had gone to sleep, Marion and Sonja sat by the fire in the great hall and stared silently at the flames. Sonja's eyes were the first to slip shut as she succumbed to exhaustion of body and mind, but Marion couldn't sleep. She couldn't face going to either her chamber or Wyborn's, knowing that she would never again share a bed with him. Never would she be able to tell him that she loved him. Had he known? She hoped so. The door creaked open, and she glanced sharply over her shoulder, startled. Derek stepped inside, shaking rain from his hair and cloak.

"Derek?" "Marion? What are you women doing down here and why are there so many guards on the wall? For a moment I thought they wouldn't let me through." "Derek?" Sonja awoke and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him so tightly that he nearly choked. "I never expected a welcome like this." He smiled, but his humor faded when he realized Sonja was crying. Marion struggled to hold back tears. Seeing the lovers united only reminded her that she would never welcome Wyborn home again. "Will one of you tell me what's wrong?" "Wyborn's dead." Marion's voice sounded as empty as she felt. "Killed by a man called Sir William." Stunned, Derek murmured, "The hell he is." "It's true. Olav brought me his sword." "When?" "Earlier tonight."

"Sven was taken." Sonja had recovered enough to talk. "Wyborn and some of the other men went after him. Olav was the only survivor." "Then he didn't bring back the bodies?" Marion shook her head. "He doesn't even know if Sven is still alive." "And no one has gone to find out?" "Erik and Kell are planning on going at dawn." Derek smoothed Sonja's hair and kissed her forehead. "I'll go tonight and bring back the bodies, then we'll give them a proper funeral." "Please be careful," Sonja told him. "I couldn't bear to lose you, too." A slight, sad smile touched the Scotsman's lips. "I never thought I'd hear that from you." "Just be grateful for what you can say to each other," Marion said. "I'm sorry, Marion." Derek rested a strong hand on her

shoulder. "Derek?" Olav rose from the floor in the corner of the hall where he and several other men had fallen asleep. "What are you doing back? Father wasn't going to send a messenger for you until tomorrow." "I decided to come back on my own for more supplies. Tell me where the fight was. I'm going back for the bodies." "You can't!" Olav shouted, then lowered his voice. "I mean, there's not much left of them." Marion's face grew paler, and Sonja dropped back into her chair, crying. "Will you shut it!" Derek snapped, grasping Olav's arm and leading him outside.

****

When they reached the rainy outdoors, Derek stared hard at Olav. "Tell me everything."

Olav's eyes shifted nervously. "There's nothing to tell, except they're dead. Sir William is a madman, and you'll do well to stay out of his way." "Out of his way? The only thing he has to fear more than me is the wrath of God himself. What is wrong with you that you can't look me in the eye?" "Nothing. There's nothing I could have done for them." "What are you saying, man?" Derek glared at Olav. "So help me, if there's more to this story that you're not saying, I'll break both your arms." "Do I look like I'm lying?" Derek glanced at the man's cut and bruised face. Yes, he had been beaten, but that wasn't enough to convince Derek that he wasn't hiding something. "You were the only survivor? You didn't see the boy?" Olav said nothing, and Derek continued, "Tell me where to go." "Believe me, Derek, if you go there in the morning, they'll kill you along with the others...." Olav stopped, his eyes widening at his mistake. Rage and hope boiled inside Derek. He clutched the front of Olav's shirt. "What others?"

"All right! They weren't dead when I left, but Wyborn was dying and the others are to be slaughtered this morning!" "And you left them? You came back here with such lies, letting us waste precious hours when we could be launching a rescue? You lying-arsed son-of-a-bitch." Derek dragged Olav by the shirt all the way to Erik. The older warrior's face grew pale when he heard the new version of his son's story. Afterward, Olav's head hung in shame and Erik wouldn't so much as look at him. "Get the men ready. I'm taking half of the army with me," Derek said. "Even if there are only bodies to salvage, we can take Sir William's raiders so he'll have none left. Kill those we must and bring the rest of them to the King himself for judgment. Let him know who has been raiding his villages all along the coast." "Do you think there's any hope of rescuing them?" Erik asked. "If Wyborn had a breath of life left in him and Stig is well enough to fight, then aye, there's a good chance. We have to hurry, but don't speak of this to Sonja or Marion. It's bad enough that they think Wyborn and Sven dead once. Why give them hope for something

that might not be."

****

By strength of will alone, Wyborn remained on his horse, fighting against the weakness that dimmed his vision and lured him into blackness. Stig and the others rode beside him, pushing their tiring mounts. Wyborn felt badly for the horses, knowing that the pace and length of the run back home would most likely destroy them, but they had no choice. As the sun rose higher, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the raiders gaining on them. A wave of dizziness nearly sent him crashing from the galloping horse. "Look!" Stig bellowed above the noise of the horse's hooves and pointed to a large band of warriors on charging horses galloping straight toward them. Wyborn could have laughed upon recognizing his own soldiers. When the raiders saw the opposing army of sword-wielding men screaming battle cries, they realized they were greatly outnumbered and turned their

horses back. Wyborn noticed Derek leading his men, his curly brown hair flying wildly from beneath his helmet. "Wyborn!" Kell edged his horse up to Wyborn's lathered one. He glanced at the chieftain, noting his bruised, haggard face and bloodstained shirt. "You're wounded." Both men dismounted, and Kell inspected the broken arrow protruding from Wyborn's shoulder. The remainder of the wooden stem dropped to the ground. "The arrow head has slipped in. It'll have to be dug out." "How's Marion?" "She's doing much better." "Better?" Wyborn snapped. "What do you mean?" "Bodin attacked her in the woods, but she's all right." "Is he dead?" Kell shook his head. "Marion and Sonja chased him off, but when we looked, we couldn't find him." "I'm going to kill him." Wyborn turned, leaning against

his horse for support. "As soon as I'm able." "What happened?" "It's a long story. I want to get home and see for myself that Marion's all right." "Are you sure you're able to ride? You look like death." Wyborn pulled himself onto his horse. "Another half hour won't kill me if I'm not dead yet." While Derek and the army dealt with the raiders, Kell accompanied Wyborn home. The guards on the gate at Ravenhill shouted with gladness upon seeing Wyborn, Stig, and the others returning alive. Villagers surrounded their horses as they plodded down the pathway to the manor house. Wyborn dismounted and stepped into the hall, Sven beside him. By the fire, Sonja, Marion, and Brenna were stitching tapestries. Upon seeing Wyborn and Sven, they dropped their needlework in utter shock. Sonja's hands flew to her mouth before she rushed at her brothers, hugging Wyborn, then stooping to gather Sven into her arms. The boy didn't even pretend to be embarrassed and returned her embrace.

"Wyborn?" Marion took a hesitant step forward, expecting him to fade like a vision. He stepped toward her and she flew at him, her arms tight around his waist, her tears mingling with the blood on his shirt. "Oh my God, my God," she murmured. Closing his eyes, he enfolded her in his arms. By the gods, he had missed her so much. Nothing felt as good as holding her again. Suddenly he gasped in pain. Her head had nudged his arrow wound. Tugging away from him, she began examining his injuries. "Come to your room. These need attention." He nodded and took several steps toward the stairs. Momentarily losing his vision, he nearly fell. Kell caught him, staggering under Wyborn's weight. "My guess is he's had enough." Kell glanced into Marion's worried face. "I'll help him upstairs." "I'll gather my supplies. Brenna, I need water. Then I'm sure the others will need your help. Kell and I can take care of Wyborn."

The older woman nodded and left the hall. "What can I do?" Sonja asked. "Are you up to helping Brenna see to the others?" "Yes. Right away." Her heart pounding, Marion collected her healing tools and hurried to Wyborn's chamber. She forced herself to remain calm since Wyborn desperately needed her skills. Wyborn. Alive. If she hadn't been so terrified of losing him again, she would have laughed with joy. However, she had seen the fever in his eyes and the pallor of his skin and knew that he was closer to death than she wanted to admit. Wyborn lay on the bed, semi-conscious. Kell had removed his shirt and was heating a poker in the fire to cauterize the wound in his chest once Marion had removed the arrowhead. Glancing over her husband's body, she noted several less serious wounds he'd received during the first fight with Sir William's men. His ribs were badly bruised, possibly broken on one side. "Stig said he was given some sort of poison," Kell told her. "He vomited for almost a day, blood at the end,

right before they thought he was dead." "Poison?" Marion whispered, touching a hand to Wyborn's cheek before rolling up her sleeves and examining the arrow wound. "Kell, I might need your help." The warrior approached and held Wyborn steady while she dug out the arrowhead. Wyborn stirred a little when she first began to probe, then remained still. She thought he might have fainted, until she glanced up quickly and saw his pain-dulled gaze fixed on her. Finally, she found the arrowhead. Except for a single agonized moan, he remained quiet while she extracted it. She tensed, hating the discomfort she was causing him but unable to ease it until she completed the messy task. "Got it." She released her pent-up breath and tossed the arrowhead and metal tool aside. Kell brought her the poker. As she sealed the wound, he braced his hands against Wyborn's shoulders until the leader lay weak and motionless. Glancing at Kell, she murmured, "I want Sir William dead." Kell nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I know.

So do I." The warrior left her alone with Wyborn so she could examine the rest of his wounds. Several on his arms required stitches. The rest she treated with an herbal salve. He sat up and she wrapped a snug bandage around his midsection to support his ribs. Afterward he lay back, exhausted, while she made him a cup of herbal tea.

****

"Wyborn?" He heard Marion's voice and felt her shaking him gently, but it was almost too great an effort to open his eyes. Finally, he managed a half-lidded gaze. She raised a cup to his lips and he nearly gagged on the first sip. Remembering the nausea of the previous day, he turned away from the strong-smelling tea. "I can't." "It'll ease the pain."

"I'll take the pain over that brew." Reluctantly, she placed the tea aside and brought him water instead. Parched from sickness and fever, he drank most of it, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. "Would you like something else? Are you hungry?" He shook his head, the thought of food making him sick. He glanced down at the hand she held, thankful just to be alive and with her again. "Sit with me for a while. I thought I might never see you again." "I thought you were dead." She brushed her lips across his knuckles and touched the bandage around his chafed wrist. "The best part of myself died too." His fingertip grazed the scar on her cheek. "I know it's ugly." She lowered her lashes. "I did it falling off my horse." "You look beautiful, but don't start lying to me." She met his gaze, startled. "Kell told me about Bodin's attack." "He did?"

"He won't get away with it, Marion. I promise you." "Wyborn, I don't care about him. All that matters is that you're home. Just concentrate on getting well and forget about Bodin. He doesn't exist." "I can't forget what he did." "Wyborn, please. I don't want to talk about it now." Nodding, he closed his eyes. At that moment, he felt too tired to move, let alone plan revenge on Bodin. That would come later. Her soft lips touched his forehead in a gentle kiss. "I love you, Wyborn." "I love you too, Marion," he murmured before sleep took him.

Chapter Fourteen

Still tired from her own recent illness, Marion dozed for several hours in a chair by Wyborn's bed. She awoke to the sound of his voice, surprised to hear him speaking his native tongue. He usually conversed in her language, though because of her previous exposure to Norsemen, she was fluent in his. "What they say behind my back doesn't mean anything. If one of them wants what's mine, let him try to take it." "Who wants our land?" she asked. "Sir William and Bodin?" "Mother's husband or not, he does what I tell him." "Wyborn?" Marion leaned closer to him, certain that he was talking in his sleep. She placed a hand to his cheek and gasped at how hot he felt. "I don't care how much experience he has." Wyborn grasped her wrist tightly and stared at her without really seeing. "I will not shame my father's memory by stepping down or losing to any man."

Marion slipped from his weakening grip, carried a basin of water to the bed, and bathed his forehead with a damp cloth. "I won't make the same mistake again. Next time, Father, I'll fight as a chieftain's son. I can row. It's only a scratch." Marion's brow furrowed as she relived his past with him. Through glimpses of conversations with his father, a strong yet cruel male influence, she finally understood the life that had forged the warrior chieftain she knew as Wyborn the Indomitable. She witnessed his youth spent in the company of his brothers, and the loss he felt when they were killed. She smiled sadly when his voice grew gentle as he spoke to his mother and Sven, teasing when he traded barbs with Sonja. He was not the frigid conqueror she had thought him to be when he'd first arrived in Ravenhill. Like any true leader, his emotions had been buried long ago, but they still existed. "She's so beautiful," he continued. Marion's chest tightened with jealousy. No matter how sick he was, she had no desire to hear him rant about past loves, but what choice did she have? "How do you touch something so fragile? Fox with the eyes of a doe. She could destroy my concentration if I let her."

I'd love to meet the woman who can do that, Marion thought, haughty in spite of her worry. A naked Valkyrie couldn't break his concentration when he was working. "Marion, I think of you when I'm awake and dream of you when I close my eyes. No matter how much I want you to feel the same for me, part of me hopes you never will. To die in battle is an honor, but one that loses its luster when I think of the unhappiness it might cause you." Tears stung Marion's eyes and she swallowed passed the tightness in her throat. She had never realized that he felt so deeply for her. She hadn't thought him capable of such love for a woman, or perhaps she hadn't thought of herself as the sort of woman who would inspire him to feel such love. Marion placed aside the cloth and unwrapped the arrow wound. It was red and inflamed, so she cleaned it again, treated it with salve, and applied a fresh bandage. She brought him water and broth. Relief washed over her when he drank some of both. Had he been unable to take any nourishment, the infection would surely kill him. It was nearly dusk when Sonja stepped into the chamber to relieve Marion. She tried to mask her

concern when she looked at Wyborn who lay sweat-drenched and haggard. "I'm not leaving. Not until his fever breaks." Sonja touched Marion's shoulder and said gently, "That could be days. You've just getting over a misca--" "Don't say it. I'm telling you now and I'm going to tell Brenna, don't say a thing to Wyborn about me losing the baby. He didn't know I was with child, so he doesn't have to know I lost one. You and Brenna are the only two people in Ravenhill who knew about the baby. The others thought I was simply wounded during the fall." "I understand." Wyborn had already been planning revenge on Bodin for attacking her. She hated to think what he might do if he learned of her miscarriage. He'd probably try to hunt down Bodin before he was strong enough to really lift a sword again. "Marion, even if you don't want to leave, at least try to get some sleep here. I'll sit with him." Grudgingly, Marion agreed and curled up beside him on the bed. If she exhausted herself, she would be of little use to Wyborn.

****

The following day, Wyborn's fever hadn't improved and his mind still strayed to the past. Stefan's wife offered to assist Marion and in late morning, Kell knocked at the door, Sven beside him. "He has been concerned," the auburn-haired warrior said. "I told him it's best that he stays out of the way, but...." Marion placed a hand on Sven's shoulder and forced a slight smile. "No, it's better that he's here." She met Kell's gaze and by the look in his eyes, she knew he caught her meaning. This might be the last time Sven would see his brother alive. Sven approached Wyborn's bed and Kell whispered to Marion, "How bad is he?" "His fever is very high. If we can't bring it down in a few days ... but we will." She drew a determined breath.

They watched from the doorway as Sven stood by Wyborn, simply staring in silence for several long moments before he spoke to the chieftain so softly that neither heard what he said. When the boy turned and walked back to them, Marion admired the strength of his expression in spite of the sorrow reflected in his eyes. She nearly smiled. He was so much like Wyborn. "Kell, will you stay here for a moment. I need fresh water. Sven can help me get it." The warrior nodded and Marion and Sven walked to the well outside the house. "Is Wyborn going to die?" "I hope not, Sven. He's a strong man." "He's the strongest warrior ever." Sven gazed at her, his blue eyes large and proud. Suddenly his brave veneer shattered, and he said, "If he dies, it will be my fault." "No, Sven." Marion placed her bucket aside and rested her hands on his shoulders. "This has nothing to do with you." "If I hadn't gone with Andrew, this never would have happened. He told me Wyborn had sent for me and that I was to return with him right away. Then he took me

away. I called for Kell and he got hurt. It's me. I make bad things happen to people." Marion shook her head, disbelieving. "It's true. If it hadn't been for me, my mother would still be alive. I killed her, now I'm killing Wyborn." "That is not true. Who told you that?" "My nurse when I was little, before Wyborn sent her away." No wonder why he sent her away, Marion thought, furious at the cruelty and stupidity of some fools. "Sven, what happened to your mother was not your fault, and neither is this. Wyborn is a chieftain. You know that. He's always at risk, like any other warrior." She thought of Bodin's attack and Stig's stories of Sir William's greed. "This had far less to do with you than it did with me and Ravenhill. Besides, Wyborn is going to get well, and when he does, he won't want to hear stories of you blaming yourself." "Don't tell him I said this! It's not manly." Marion couldn't help laughing as she ruffled his hair. "I won't breathe a word. Now help me bring this water upstairs."

****

For three days Wyborn's fever remained dangerously high before it slowly descended. Marion remained with him, leaving the room only when necessary. She slept, often in a chair by the fire, when Sonja or Brenna relieved her. Having thought him dead once, she couldn't bear to be separated from him when he could pass at any time. On the fourth morning, she was dozing by his bedside when he spoke her name. "Wyborn?" She blinked sleep from her eyes and touched his brow. He felt warm, but not burning as he had been for so many days. She smiled. "Thank God." He cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb caressing her soft skin. "You should get some sleep. Were you up with me all night?" "All night? You came home four days ago." "Four days?" He pushed himself to a sitting position,

cursing the weakness that made even such a little movement difficult. "How are Stig and the others? What did Derek do with the raiders? I'm sure he took them easily. He had half of the damn army with him." "And a good thing too." Marion braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down when he attempted to rise. "Get up and I'll finish what Sir William started." "That son-of-a-bitch. I'm going to gut him and burn his liver. After I kill Bodin." "You're going to sit here and keep quiet until you're well." "Tell me what happened to the raiders, or better yet, send Derek or Kell in." "I'll get one of them, but only to help you out of bed so I can clean up in here." "What am I? An old woman? Help me out of bed." He sat up and nearly fell from dizziness. Lying back, he closed his eyes and said to Marion, "Not one word." She couldn't resist. "I told you so. Now stay put." Marion went to the hall and ordered water for a bath to be sent up to Wyborn's chamber along with a light meal of bread and soup, then she sent for Derek. Both the

Scotsman and Sonja hurried to the room. While Sonja helped Marion change the bedclothes and rekindle the fire, Derek assisted Wyborn to the chair by the bed. "I had the raiders brought to the King," Derek said. "By now he knows all about Sir William's raids. Likely there'll be a fine price on his head." "Any sign of William?" "I did not bring Derek up here so that you could start planning battles." "Didn't you say he was going to the King to see if he could be awarded Ravenhill?" Derek asked. "There's a good chance he's been arrested already." "Not likely. A swill-sucker like that rarely gets his due, but he will. Mark me. I have visions of shoving a bail of red squill down his throat. See how he enjoys it." "Red squill?" Marion snapped. "Is that what he gave you?" "I don't care half as much about what he did to me as I do about what Bodin did to you." Wyborn traced her cheek and jaw with his fingertip.

"It's done. All that matters to me is that you're home." "Marion's right." Carrying a basket of soiled clothes, Sonja headed for the door. "You have time to plan revenge." After eating, Wyborn felt less dizzy, so Derek left the couple alone. Wyborn sank into the tub of warm water and closed his eyes. Kneeling beside him, Marion used a cloth to clean around the arrow wound. She slid soap over his chest and shoulders, noting that he'd lost too much weight after nearly a week of sickness and scarcely eating, but she marveled at how much better he looked already. "Marion." He caught her slippery hand and pressed it to his heart. "I missed you." Not caring that the bath water wet the front of her tunic, she embraced him, kissing the moist flesh along the side of his neck. "I've never missed anyone so much in my life." After stepping out of the tub and drying off, he lay on the bed. She applied another bandage to his chest and salve to several other injuries before he caught her wrist and tugged her into the bed beside him. Comforted by

the knowledge that he would recover, Marion rested her head on his uninjured shoulder and drifted to sleep. The next day Marion left Wyborn for a short time to visit with Stefan's wife. When she returned, Kell, Derek, Stig, and Erik were seated around Wyborn's bed discussing damages caused by Sir William's raiders. "What is this?" Marion snapped. "Can't you give him a couple of days without questions? Out!" "I called them here, Marion. We have business to discuss." Stig stood. Kell and Derek exchanged questioning looks, undecided as to whether they should obey the commands of their furious lady or the request of their leader. She smiled too sweetly. "Oh, that makes it better. You want to start working yourself to death and they're willing to help you." "Marion." Wyborn's expression left no room for argument. "Come back in an hour." "An hour." She glared at the men. "Not a moment longer."

As she left the room, she didn't miss Wyborn's grin in her direction. It seemed he had already returned to his arrogant, wonderful self. A slight fever lingered in Wyborn for close to a week, but even then it was a constant chore for Marion to keep him in his chamber. Each day, either Kell, Derek, Stig, or Erik came to meet with him, sometimes all four. She knew that he'd sent men to track Bodin and Sir William. Olav had disappeared on the night Derek had dragged the confession from him. While both Marion and Wyborn sympathized with Erik's loss and disappointment, they appreciated his loyalty to Ravenhill. Derek had completed the rebuilding in Graybrook and stationed a troop of Wyborn's men there to protect the village. The days grew colder and the nights were frigid as winter approached. One morning, Marion awoke at dusk and shivered against the chill. She snuggled close to Wyborn, her cheek tickled by his chest hair, and thought how good it felt to wake up in his arms. When healthy, he was usually out of bed and heading for the field by dawn. She knew that such pleasant mornings with him by her side were limited. Though his strength still hadn't returned in full, the confinement had already begun to irritate him. It was only a matter of time before he left

the manor house and joined the others on the field. As she drifted back to sleep, his arm tightened around her. When she next awoke, she was alone in the bed. Startled, she jumped up and searched the room for Wyborn. He stood by the narrow window, looking out at the village, his back to her. Yawning, she pushed her hair from her face and slipped out of the bed. The stone floor chilled her feet. She touched his arm and he guided her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "I should go out today and at least see what's going on." "Nothing is going on. Everything is ready for winter. Your men are doing the usual training." "It's time I joined them." "Wyborn." She turned and met his gaze. "Promise me you won't lift anything, including a sword, until that arrow wound is healed. Less than two weeks ago you were near death." "That was then." "I've never known you to be stupid, so don't begin

now." She placed her fingertips to his lips when he started to protest. "I know how much you want to find Sir William and Bodin, but you're still not well." "I just want to take a ride through the village. If I stay in this room for one more day, I'll lose my mind." She nodded, knowing it would do her no good to argue. "I'll be back soon." "You'd better be!" she called as he closed the door behind him.

****

Wyborn stepped out of the manor house and into the breezy autumn morning. He thought how good it felt to be home again, walking freely through Ravenhill, knowing that Sven was safe and Marion awaited him when he returned to his chamber. She was right in what she said about him not being fully recovered. That would take time, since his chest wound was only partially healed and he tired easily.

Still, once he mounted his horse and adjusted to the soreness in his chest as he rode, he became completely immersed in village happenings and forgot his promise to return to the house within a reasonable amount of time. He inspected the new repairs on the fence where it had been damaged during the raid, then talked to Kell and Erik about the last trades before winter. Afterward, he rode to the training field to watch Derek and the other warriors honing their skills. It was strange for him not to feel the weight of his sword on his back, and he longed to join the others. He coached several of the men in swordplay, unable to resist borrowing one man's weapon to teach him several defensive moves. It was late afternoon when he finally returned to the house. Just when he lay on his bed and closed his eyes, his entire body aching from the day's exertion, Marion stepped inside. "I cannot believe you! I wear myself out saving your life and you try to send yourself into a relapse." "Silence, woman. The last thing I need right now is to listen to your acid tongue," he snapped, more irritated with himself than with her. He hated functioning at a portion of his usual strength. Not being able to grab his sword, jump on his horse, and track Bodin and Sir William at that very moment infuriated him. From his perspective, Sir William had bested him. Even worse,

Marion had been hurt. The idea of Bodin lifting a hand to her made his blood pound with fury. "You arrogant, obnoxious, stupid, ungrateful--" Dragging her onto the bed, he silenced her with a kiss. Her fingers sifted through the hair at the back of his neck and she closed her eyes, a soft sound escaping her throat as his tongue traced the shape of her lips. When he broke their kiss, she gazed at him with such tenderness that his anger faded. "Wyborn, I can't help worrying about you. I love you more than anything and I don't want to lose you." "You can never lose me. Our souls have mated forever. You're part of me, Marion, and I'm part of you. Now and always." "Wyborn." She clung to him so that their hearts beat in unison. He brushed his lips across the pit of her throat and rested his head against the softness of her breasts. With the utmost gentleness, she stroked coarse tendrils of hair from his temple until he surrendered to sleep, more tired than he wanted to admit.

****

For a long time, Marion lay awake, enjoying the feeling of Wyborn's body so close to hers. She thought of all the nights spent alone, praying for his safety and longing for his touch. Now he was there with her and she was terrified of losing him again. She knew that no matter what she said or did, she couldn't keep him from his duties even long enough to fully recover. He was diligent, responsible, and courageous. It was ironic that all the things she loved about him were what worried her as well. Her decision not to tell him about the miscarriage had been right. She knew how badly he wanted revenge against Bodin and Sir William and how upset he'd been about the attack on her. If he knew the extent of the damage, she was afraid that nothing would keep him from riding off to meet Bodin with a half-healed wound in his chest. She'd have to tell him eventually, since she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to have children again. Sometimes such an injury destroyed a woman's ability to bear offspring. Wyborn must know so that he could at least have the opportunity to father an heir by another woman. The thought of him with someone else sickened her, but to prevent him from taking the option

would be unfair.

Chapter Fifteen

Sir William was less than a day from Court when he set up camp for the night. He sat by the small fire, a black cloak draping him from head to boot, concealing his face like the shroud of Death itself. Beneath wool shadows, he smiled wickedly. Soon he would have the Norseman's land. He would reclaim his birthright and silence the laughter and disdain of men no better born than he was. Once he took Ravenhill, nothing would stop him from devouring land along the coast, perhaps overthrowing the King himself.... He glanced sharply over his shoulder at the sound of hoofbeats. Andrew leapt off a lathered horse and approached the fire.

"Good that I caught up to you before you reached the King," said the man, kneeling across the fire and attempting to catch his breath. "Wyborn's army came. They killed most of your raiders and are marching to the King as we speak. They mean to tell him everything. The raids, the thefts, the murders." Sir William remained motionless except for his jaw, which tightened in anger. "There's more," Andrew continued. "Wyborn is alive. He escaped with his brother and his men. We have to get out of here. Take a ship to--" Andrew's eyes widened with terror and he grasped the dagger handle protruding from his chest. Blood washed over his grimy fingers and stained his filthy gray shirt before he slumped forward by the fire. Sir William drew a long, cleansing breath and closed his furious eyes. "I feel better. Not perfect, but better." He quickly doused the fire, removed his dagger from Andrew's chest, cleaned it, and galloped over the moonlit field.

****

Early the next morning, Marion stopped at the stable on the way to visit with a baby Brenna had delivered the previous day. She paused in the doorway, her leather bag slung across her shoulder, and watched Wyborn from a distance. Grooming his chestnut stallion, he looked so handsome. Her heartbeat quickened at the sensual play of muscles across his shoulders, back, and arms. His legs, lean and sculpted beneath the fitted breeches, made her stomach tighten with desire. It had been so long since they'd been intimate. He turned to her suddenly, his gaze raking her, lingering on the curve of her breasts and the roundness of her hips in the plain brown tunic. He lowered the brush and placed it aside before approaching her. Grasping her shoulders gently, he guided her against the side of a stall and kissed her. She locked her arms around his neck, her tongue meeting his, probing, tasting, rekindling erotic memories that each of them had clung to over their weeks of separation. "It seems like forever since we've made love," he whispered against her lips, his palms grazing her breasts.

"It has been." She traced the shape of his face with her fingertips. He'd shaved that morning before leaving his chamber and his skin was smooth and warm beneath her touch. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, then buried her face in his shoulder. His shirt smelled of cool morning air, horses, and leather. How she loved his scent! So many nights when he'd been away she had worn his shirts and caressed his gloves, imagining that he was with her. "I told Kell I'd meet him on the field, but I'm coming back early." Raising her eyes to heaven, she smiled. "I've heard that before." "I promise." At least he always kept his promises. He was about to kiss her again when Derek ran into the stable, Sonja at his heels. Both were laughing. "You cheated!" Sonja grasped his shoulders and pinned him to the doorway. "How could I have cheated when I let you start ten paces ahead of me?" "Your tunic is shorter than my dress, that's how!"

Derek silenced her with a kiss. Marion cleared her throat loudly and two pairs of startled eyes flew to her and Wyborn. "We were racing. Didn't see you," Derek explained. "Not like it would have mattered if you had," Sonja teased him. Wyborn's smile faded, but his eyes glistened with amusement. Picking up the brush, he continued grooming his horse. "I was actually looking for Marion," Sonja continued. "I thought you might need help with your rounds?" "That would be wonderful," Marion told her, glancing over her shoulder at Wyborn as they left the stable. "Remember your promise." He shook a tendril of coarse blond hair from his eyes and smiled slightly at her.

****

No sooner had the women left than Wyborn asked Derek, "Any word on Bodin or Sir William?" "No. Bodin shouldn't be too hard to find. From what Sonja and Marion said, he was badly burned. Someone must have tended him. As for Sir William, he has vanished from the face of the earth." "He'd just like us to think that. When I'm finished with him, he'll wish he really had vanished from the face of the earth." "When you're feeling up to tracking them yourself, I'll go with you." Wyborn nodded. Thinking about his enemies stirred his temper, yet angry outbursts would do him no good. He intended to save his venom for when it could do the most damage. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you." Derek picked up another brush and ran it over the horse's flanks. Wyborn raised an eyebrow. "Well?" "It's about Sonja."

"What about her?" "I want your permission to marry her." Wyborn glanced at Derek. "What has she said?" "I haven't asked her yet." "So ask her." Derek kicked the toe of his boot against the side of the stall. "What do you think she'll say?" "How should I know? Am I Sonja?" "Your sister is an unpredictable woman." Wyborn snorted, as if to say, you're not telling me anything I don't already know. "She might say yes." "She might." "Or she might laugh in my face and knee my balls up to my teeth." "That sounds more like Sonja," Wyborn muttered, then

said disgustedly. "You sound like you're afraid of my sister." "I'm not afraid, it's my private parts that have the worry. So do I have your permission or not?" "If it's agreeable with her, I have no complaint." Derek nodded and drew a deep breath. "We're going riding at noon. I'll ask her then." "May the gods protect you," Wyborn whispered. "Did you say something?" Shaking his head, Wyborn continued grooming his horse.

****

Marion spent the morning with Sonja visiting the sick and injured. Their limited supply of herbs worried her. Since the attack on Ravenhill, Erik had sent out merchants to trade with some of the surrounding villages, but Marion would have preferred a larger

supply of herbs to last through the winter. Still, what they had stored should hold them until spring when new plants could be gathered. At noon, she returned to the manor house and went directly to Wyborn's chamber where she undressed and slipped into a fur-rimmed robe. Seated by the fire, she mended one of his shirts until he joined her. She placed her sewing aside when he sat on the chair across from hers. He held out his hand and she took it, loving the warmth and roughness of his palm. Tugging her between his knees, he loosened her hair from its braid. She touched his face, noting with some concern that he hadn't yet regained his healthy color and had dark shadows beneath his eyes. "You've been doing too much too soon," she scolded him. "I need a wife, not a mother." He kissed her, untying her belt. Her robe fell open and he ran his hands over the soft flesh of her stomach and ribs. Nothing felt as wonderful as Wyborn's kisses and the warmth of his powerful body close to hers. While he teased her breasts with his tongue and lips, she threaded her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes. At least she'd found a way to

get him into bed for a while. His mouth returned to hers and she tugged off his shirt. Melting against his bare chest, she closed her eyes. She slid from his embrace only to walk to the bed and slip beneath the blankets. He tugged off the remainder of his clothes and joined her. Straddling him, she rose on her knees like a sultry goddess, shaking back her dark, curly hair. Her hands passed gently over the bandage swathing his chest, then she leaned forward and kissed every inch of his ribs. He grasped her beneath the arms and pulled her on top of him. Every inch of her body tingled with need. Slowly, she guided him inside her. Oh, how he filled her! Clutching his shoulders, she moved sensuously upon him. "I've missed this, Wyborn." "So have I." He raised his head to kiss her, and she pushed him back against the pillows, covering his mouth with hers.

****

"This was much better than spending the afternoon on the field," Wyborn murmured, half asleep, holding Marion close. "Better than sewing too." She draped her leg over his body and ran her foot down the hair-roughened length of his leg. "I'm almost hoping for the coldest winter." "I'll make sure you stay warm." He smiled, opening his eyes slightly and tilting her chin upward for a kiss. "Wyborn!" Sonja called, knocking on the door. Marion reached for her robe. "I hope nothing's wrong. I thought Sonja and Derek were out riding." Wyborn pulled on his breeches. "They were, but I forgot to tell you, he was going to ask her to marry him." "How could you forget to tell me something like that?" He flashed her a roguish grin. "I was distracted." Wyborn, his shirt half buttoned, opened the door. Sonja and Derek stepped inside, glancing sheepishly at the couple. "Didn't mean to intrude," Derek said.

"Looks like you'll be getting rid of me after all." Sonja's gleeful expression belied her mocking words. "Sonja, I'm so happy!" Marion hugged her sister-in-law. "We'll make you the most beautiful dress." "We can start tomorrow. Wyborn, Derek is bringing a wonderful bride price. Furniture and jewelry from Scotland. I told him we'll find a time to discuss my dowry with you." "Of course." Wyborn's mouth remained solemn, but his eyes glistened with humor. "I can manage a couple of chickens." "Wyborn!" Marion slapped his shoulder. "I at least have the jewelry Mother left me." "I don't care if you have nothing," Derek tugged one of her thick blond braids. "You are all I want." "That's good to hear, but she'll have much more than that," Wyborn said. "I've been planning a long time for this day. She's got twenty cows, two good riding horses and enough silver to build a house." Sonja hugged Wyborn. "Thank you."

Wyborn glanced at Derek. "Mistreat her, and I'll break both your arms. Welcome to the family." That night in the great hall, there were many toasts and congratulations to the newly betrothed couple. "I can't believe what's happening," Kell teased over his third mug of mead. "All around me friends are succumbing to matrimony. First Wyborn, now Derek." "With any luck, in the spring when my niece comes, you'll be next." Brenna pinched one of Kell's ruddy cheeks before clearing away his bowl. "I don't think I'm the marrying kind." "Sure you are." Derek punched Kell amiably in the shoulder. "Can you not picture yourself with a house full of bairns? A young Kell, perhaps?" "Young Kell." The warrior looked amused at the idea, then shook his head. "Never happen. I give it all to the sword." "Tonight it looks like you give it all to the drink," Wyborn observed. Kell lifted his mug to the chieftain and swallowed.

"You mock me, Wyborn, my friend, but one of these fine days Marion will be toting a fat babe of yours while I still have no worries." "I look forward to the day." Wyborn smiled at Marion, but she concentrated on her food. Sonja noticed Marion's discomfort and said, "Enough talk about babies. I want to plan my wedding before I think of such things." "Well that's good to know," Derek teased. "I still say, a few years from now, this place will be crawling with young Wyborns." "Will you give my lady some peace!" Brenna snapped at Kell. "She has only just gotten over losing the one she--" The old woman's hand flew to her mouth as the entire table fell silent. To Marion, everyone in the room disappeared except for Wyborn. His stunned blue eyes stared into hers. "Brenna, how could you?" Sonja whispered. Tears sprang into the old woman's eyes. "I forgot. I'm so sorry, my lady."

"What is she talking about?" Wyborn demanded. Marion touched the maid's arm gently before she stood and fled the hall. She was halfway up the stairs when Wyborn caught her. He grasped her arm and guided her to his chamber where he closed the door behind them. "Why didn't you tell me?" Marion's' heart pounded and her hands trembled. "I was going to, Wyborn." "When?" "When you'd fully recovered and--" "You lost it when Bodin attacked you." It was a statement rather than a question. She nodded, and he began pacing the room. "He won't get a quick death for this. First I'll make him wish he was dead. I'm going to find him. Now. No more waiting around to see if he and Sir William turn up." "Wyborn, stop." She grasped his forearm. "Both of them are walking dead men." He strode to his bedside and picked up his sword. "Wyborn, please!"

"It's long past time for revenge, Marion." "Is revenge all you care about? All that matters is you going out and proving how much of a man you are? All you care about is more violence!" "It is my duty to kill them." "What about Sonja and Sven and me?" She grasped his shirt and shook him. "Do you care how we'll feel if you run out and fight them before you're ready? You're not fully recovered yet. We've learned enough about Sir William's reputation to know he'll kill you if you try fighting him now." "Don't you understand that I have to kill them for you? Sir William wants Ravenhill. I cannot stand the thought of you possibly living in a world where you're at the mercy of him and men like him." "I'd rather live in any world except one without you!" Sighing, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his arms. After several moments, she regained her composure and dried her eyes on her sleeve. When she looked at him, he saw only strength and grim determination on her face.

"I know you have to kill them. I won't lie and say I don't want them dead. I do. I've always hated Bodin and I hate Sir William even more for what he did to you. Do you want them to get what they deserve? Bide your time. Recover. Make yourself strong, Wyborn, and then do what you must." After a moment, he nodded. "That sounds like a good plan." "Of course. I'm a chieftain's wife." He held her tightly and whispered into her hair, "I love you, Marion." "And I you, Wyborn." "I'm sorry you had to bear this alone, that you felt you couldn't tell me." She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I really was going to tell you and also that if because of my injury I'm unable to conceive again, I won't be upset if you want another woman to mother your children. That's not completely true, I would be upset, but I'd never deny you sons and daughters." "Marion, you are my wife. You're the only woman I desire, the only one I love. There will be no children

with anyone else." "What about an heir?" "I have Sven. Marion, if we have children, I'll be very happy, but if we don't, you're all I need." She hugged him. "Wyborn, that's beautiful." "You're beautiful." He stroked her hair, kissed her cheek, then her mouth. Tenderly, he caressed her waist and breasts. Marion's nipples hardened beneath the circular caress of his thumbs. Tiny ripples of desire coursed through her, yet she placed her hands over his wrists. "Wyborn, we can't. Not now. As much as I don't want to go back to the hall and face everyone, we have to. I feel so embarrassed." "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I am the one who's ashamed because you couldn't come to me with this right away and because I wasn't there to protect you from Bodin in the first place. How can you forgive me for that, Marion?" "It wasn't your fault." She turned her face to kiss his palm. "Bodin was evil long before you came, and you had no choice but to go after Sven. Who knows what

that monster would have done to him if you hadn't?" "It was so strange," Wyborn murmured. "What was?" "When I asked Sven what happened, he said that Sir William never once harmed him." "Well, that's one thing to be grateful for." He opened the door for her and took her hand as they walked to the hall. Conversation stopped when they took their place at the table. Kell glanced at Marion. "I'm sorry for those stupid comments. Sometimes I say foolish things and can't seem to stop myself." "If you didn't, we wouldn't recognize you." Wyborn lifted his glass to Kell, took a sip, and offered it to Marion. She smiled, her fingers brushing his as she accepted it. The chatter resumed and the earlier outburst wasn't mentioned again.

****

Marion and Wyborn remained in the hall, talking and drinking with Kell, Derek, and Sonja for nearly an hour before retiring to his chamber. While Wyborn stoked the fire, Marion undressed and lay naked across the bed, one curvaceous leg draped over the other, her firm, pink-tipped breasts dangling like smooth, ripe fruit above the gentle swell of her stomach. She shook her hair from its braid so that it cascaded over her shoulders and called in a coquettish tone, "Oh, Wyborn, care to show me your sword?" The sight of her stirred him, making him throb and ache in the most wonderful places. He stood, brushing his hands across his thighs to rid them of excess splinters of wood, and tugged his shirt over his head. He discarded his boots and clothes, then stretched out on the bed beside her. Placing a hand on her hip, he rolled her toward him for a kiss. She smiled and slid her hands up his back while entwining her legs with his. They made love until the fire burned low, then climbed beneath the blankets. Marion's head rested against on his shoulder. Together, they watched the flickering

shadows on the ceiling. "Wyborn?" "Um?" "Do you ever miss your home?" He brushed her forehead with a kiss. "I am home." Smiling faintly, she drifted to sleep. Wyborn listened to her even breathing, felt the warmth of her smooth body against his, and was unable to sleep. Careful not to wake her, he traced the scar on her cheek. He'd thought that was the worst of Bodin's attack. How wrong he'd been. How stupid. He should have perceived something was bothering her, but she'd disguised her loss well. He knew how much she'd wanted a child, now because of Bodin, she might never have one. Bodin and Sir William. If the knight hadn't taken Sven, Wyborn would have been home to protect Marion. His heartbeat quickened with anger. The desire to make both of them suffer as Marion had was almost tangible, yet he knew she was right. His chest was still healing, and from what he'd heard about Sir William's skill, he would need all of his strength and experience

to kill him. Already he had ordered a pair of swords, slightly smaller than his regular one, to be made. If he was to fight Sir William, it would be on equal grounds. Sir William fought with both of his swords, making him a force to be reckoned with. Wyborn was grateful that his father had trained him to be ambidextrous since childhood. Now his next order of business would be to learn how to fight wielding two swords at once.

Chapter Sixteen

"Wyborn." Marion shook him awake. He shot up, reaching for the sword by his bed.

Giggling, Marion dropped back onto her heels and touched his arm. "Sorry. I just wanted to tell you to look outside." He ran a hand through his wild hair and walked to the window, squinting against the sunlight. He must have been more tired than he'd thought, since he rarely slept past dawn. Outside, the village was covered with snow. Icicles sprouted from the rooftops and shone like tiny daggers in the sunlight. "That storm came fast." She slipped under his arm and gazed outside. "Isn't it beautiful?" "I suppose it is. I'm going to the stable. I want to ride along the wall. Make sure it's holding up." "That wall will last through ten ice storms, but a ride sounds like fun. I'll go with you." After washing and dressing in their warmest clothes, they walked together down the steps. As soon as they reached the great hall, Sven raced to

them, his face pink from the cold, his large blue eyes gleaming. "Kell hit me with the biggest snowball I ever saw, but I hit him back." "Where is he now?" Wyborn asked. "Riding along the wall. He said he wanted to make sure it held up." "It worries me when he and I think alike," Wyborn said with mock sarcasm. Laughing, Marion joined him at the table for their morning meal.

****

The sun glistened off icy trees and the wind blew white clouds across the fields outside the wall. Marion's mare plodded alongside Wyborn's stallion. Inhaling the crisp air, Marion wiggled her cold toes in her boots. There was something so wild and magical about winter, the way it enveloped everything in its frigid, white embrace. Every year she was possessed by

the urge to run across the snow and roll in it. "Everything looks fine," Wyborn said. "With any luck, we'll have a good winter." "I'm sure we will." She tossed him a flirtatious glance. "The two of us stuck inside with nothing to while away the time except for...." He smiled at her and turned his horse back toward the manor house. Once their horses were settled in the stable, Marion skipped ahead of him through the pathway packed with dirty snow leading to the house. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that he was watching the smoke drifting from the cottages' chimneys. Smiling wickedly, she stooped, clutched a fistful of snow, and flung it at him. Brushing off his shoulder, he glared at her. She flung another snowball, this one hitting him in the forehead. Icy flakes dripped down his nose. "Marion, that isn't funny." "I think it is. It's very funny." She flung another fistful, but this time he dodged it. "Stop it, Marion."

She picked up more snow, giggling. "Make me." "This is a child's game." As he strode passed her, she splattered a snowball against the back of his head. He stooped, molded a snowball, and flung it at her. Before she could wipe the snow from her face, he flung more. "Wyborn!" Laughing, he scooped up more snow. "This is fun." Marion leapt out of the way to avoid another snowball, but stumbled face first into a snowdrift. "Marion, are you all right?" He bent over to help her and she grasped his shirt. Though she tried to pull him into the snow with her, he was too surefooted and immovable. Instead she picked up a handful of snow and mashed it in his face. "Come here, you evil wench," he teased, tugging her into his arms and kissing her. She tasted snow on his lips, but it warmed beneath their kiss. This time he allowed her to pull him into the snow, their mouths locked and limbs entwined.

"Wyborn, this is very undignified." "Let's take it upstairs where we can forget about dignity." He brushed a damp, icy lock of hair from her eyes and kissed the tip of her nose. They hurried to the manor house and up to his chamber where they undressed, dragged the heaviest blanket off the bed, and lay beneath it on the rug by the fire. "Right now I could almost pretend nothing bad has ever happened. It's like we're the only two people in the world," she said, leaning on her elbow and drawing random circles on his chest. "We can pretend for a while." He placed a hand on the back of her neck and gently drew her to him for a kiss.

****

"I detest snow," Sir William snarled, striking the thick trunk of a naked tree with one of his swords. He called the twin blades Sodom and Gomorrah. They were the most prized of his few possessions, and lately all he could imagine was chopping Wyborn the Indomitable

to pieces with them. "I hate being an outlaw, and I loathe Wyborn the Indomitable!" In spite of the frigid weather, sweat glistened on the knight's brow and heat radiated from his body. He continued practicing with his swords. For the past few weeks, he had traveled from village to village, remaining on the outskirts, camping like a nomad or sharing the cheap, dusty rooms of wenches he'd slept with on rare occasions when he indulged the desires of his body. "I'm going to kill him." William swung his swords, his feet shifting stances on the icy ground. "I might never have his land, but I can watch him bleed. Damn my own amusement! I should have made sure I gave him enough red squill to kill him." He paused, reflecting on his words. His breath came in short, visible puffs and tendrils of cold black hair clung to his damp neck. "Still, the idea of fighting him has its merits. He's a good swordsman, the best I've seen, besides myself. It will be an interesting match, one I intend to win." William sheathed Sodom and Gomorrah and mounted his horse. The animal, nearly as white as the snow and ice, left a trail of dark prints over the hillside. It had been weeks since he'd left Northumbria, weeks since he'd last seen his family's ruin. He'd never left the place because he thought it fed his rage and kept his hatred

like a raw, angry wound on his soul. Strange that fleeing had only intensified his fury. For him insanity and revenge had nothing to do with where he was, but how he was. He wondered how it would feel when he finally killed Wyborn. Would some of his loathing melt into the earth along with the Norseman's blood? It was nearly dusk when he noticed smoke from a tavern in the valley below. The day had become colder and he and his horse were covered with frozen rain. Nudging the animal through the drifts of snow toward the stable, he paid a shivering young boy in tattered clothes to care for his horse, then entered the tavern. The smoky room was empty except for a drunk sleeping with his head on a table, the tavern keeper, and his wife. "I need a place to stay for tonight." Sir William dropped coins on the nicked wooden surface of the bar. The tavern keeper's chapped hands grasped the money. "This room is all we got. Stay if you want." "Something to eat?" Sir William kicked out the bench to sit and the drunk stirred. The tavern keeper's wife disappeared into the pantry

while the tavern keeper placed a mug of ale in front of Sir William. "By the gods," the drunk slurred. William glanced at him, mildly surprised. The drunk's face was a ridged mass of scarred, red flesh, but the knight recognized Bodin's eyes. The Norseman's sluggish voice continued, "William? Is that you?" "Bodin." Sir William took a long drink from the wooden mug, allowing the ale to slide down his throat. "If I cared, I'd ask what happened to your ugly face." "That bitch." Bodin's teeth clenched and his fist slammed against the tabletop. "That chieftain's whore. She did this to me!" Sir William smiled. "From what I heard, she's scarcely larger than a child, and she did that do you? How humiliating. Did you even get a taste of her before she fought you off?" "Taste of her?" Bodin spat on the floor. "I'd rather taste poison." "No. Her husband tasted the poison. I gave him enough red squill to introduce him to the angel of death." "I knew you'd kill him." Bodin pointed a finger at

William. "Too bad there's a price on your head and you can't enjoy Ravenhill. Neither of us can. The men Wyborn left behind are as bad as he was." "The whole country might be looking for me, but if I were you, I'd be far more worried." "Huh?" Sir William smiled wickedly. "I have some joyous news for you, Bodin Wolftooth. Wyborn isn't dead." "What?" Bodin nearly fell off the bench. "What do you mean? I thought you killed him!" "The bastard lives." Sir William clenched the mug until his hand trembled. "I know firsthand how much he adores his family. You attacked his wife, did you not? Can you imagine what he's going to do to you when he finds you?" "I'm taking the first ship out." Bodin stood, tripped over the bench, and fell unconscious to the floor. Stretching one leg out on the bench, Sir William chuckled.

****

Throughout the night, snow fell heavily upon Ravenhill, but the fire burning in the hearth of Wyborn's chamber kept out the cold. He sat in a chair, Marion on his lap with her head resting on his shoulder. They watched Kell, Derek, and Sven seated on the rug, playing dice. Sonja, sewing another shirt for her betrothed, perched on a stool behind Derek. "I can't believe we're losing to a child," Derek muttered. Kell shrugged. "He has luck. Just be grateful we're only playing for fun and not coins." "I wonder how deep the snow is?" Wyborn glanced toward the window, watching the thick drapes dance as they held back the freezing wind. "It'll be a horrible blizzard," Kell said. "Like the one in which Twelve Fingered Thorlief attacked a hunting party fifty years ago." Wyborn raised his eyes to heaven and Marion laughed. Sven's eyes widened. "Twelve Fingered Thorlief? Who

was he, Kell?" "Yes, Kell, who was he?" Marion giggled. The auburn-haired warrior leaned back on his elbows and crossed his feet at the ankles. "Now that is a horrible story. My grandfather told it to me when I was scarcely older than Sven." "Notice how this horrible story comes to mind when he's losing the game?" Wyborn teased. "Tell us, Kell," Sven pressed. "I don't know if I can do that. Even the bravest warriors cower at the mention of Twelve Fingered Thorlief." "Oh get on with it." Sonja placed aside her sewing and dropped onto the rug beside Derek. "I will, but remember, late tonight, when your fires burn low and the wind screams through the trees and you're unable to sleep, you asked me to tell you. Twelve Fingered Thorlief was born on a night when clouds blackened the moon. He didn't cry like a normal baby, but howled like a wolf. Owwwwww!" "Enough with the mimicking," Wyborn said, his mouth solemn, but his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Get

on with the story." "I just want everyone to know what it was like on the night Twelve Fingered Thorlief was born. Anyway, he howled like the wolf and grew large within days of his birth, so tall that Derek would look like a dwarf near him and so large that he could pick his teeth with Wyborn's sword." "He was bigger than Wyborn and taller than Derek?" Sven looked disbelieving. Kell shrugged. "It is what my grandfather told me. He also had six fingers, five like a regular man, and another that grew out of the side of each wrist, like on a dog or cat. The nails on his wrist-fingers were long, curved, and sharp like daggers. He ran from his parent's house on four legs and lived in the big woods behind the longhouse back home. One winter, a group of men decided to hunt for deer. The sky was clear that morning, so they weren't expecting the storm that came in. They were forced to hide in a cave deep in the woods. What they didn't know was that it was Twelve Fingered Thorlief's cave." "Was he there in the cave?" Sven asked. "No. He had gone out hunting as well, but late that night while the men dozed by the fire, one awoke. He

looked up through the clouds of ice blowing in the mouth of the cave and saw Twelve Fingered Thorlief standing there, his hands and mouth smeared with the blood of a recent kill. The man shouted for his companions who jumped to their feet, reaching for their bows and arrows. They shot Twelve Fingered Thorlief--" "Let me guess," Wyborn said, "twelve times?" "Yes," Kell pointed a finger at Wyborn, "but he didn't die. He leapt at the hunters, slashing with his claws and snapping with his huge fangs." Kell jumped to his feet, gnashing his teeth and barking like a mad dog. Sven scooted closer to Wyborn's chair and Sonja and Marion jumped in surprise. Smiling, Wyborn tightened his grip on Marion who snuggled closer to him. "He devoured them all, except for one. The man who ran out into the storm was lost for days. Half starved and frozen, he finally dragged himself back to the village. He was the one who told my grandfather the story." Derek raised an eyebrow. "And you expect us to believe this? Do we look daft?" "Believe what you will, but it is the story my grandfather told me."

"That was a great story, Kell," Sven said. "Do you have another?" "He has enough to last all winter." Wyborn raised his eyes to heaven. "But that's enough for tonight. It's time for you to go to bed, Sven. Early tomorrow, if the weather is clear, we have to be on the training field." "That's right." Derek stood, holding Sonja's hand as they walked to the door. "We have to keep strong in case Twelve Fingered Thorlief decides to jump on a ship and visit Northumbria." Wyborn and Marion closed the door behind their guests. Once they were alone, Wyborn leaned against the wall and shook his head. "Twelve Fingered Thorlief. How does he think of such things?" "I think it's amusing having our own bard in the village. Maybe some day he'll tell our grandchildren about how the handsome, courageous warrior, Wyborn the Magnificent, rode into Ravenhill, saved it from the evil Bodin, and claimed the heart of the Lady Marion." Amusement faded from his eyes. "If only he had saved her when she truly needed saving." "Wyborn." She slid her arms around his waist and

rested her cheek against his chest. He held her close and together they walked to the bed. After undressing, they slid beneath the covers. Wyborn drew her into his embrace and stroked her hair. "I wish it could be like this forever. Cold outside, warm within, just the two of us together," Marion murmured, gently touching her lips to the healing red scar on his chest. "It hurt," he whispered. "I know it must have. The arrow was in deep." He narrowed his eyes in question, then said, "I don't mean the injury. I meant the thought of losing you. It was all I could think about when Sir William had us, that something might happen to you." "I felt the same. I said that when you returned, I'd let you know you how much I love you and tell you each day after that." He smiled slightly. "I love you, Marion. Always remember that." "I know." She traced his lips with her fingertip. Shifting his position so that he loomed over her, he

kissed her. His tongue caressed her lower lip, then slipped into her mouth and met hers. She closed her eyes and locked her arms around his neck. Outside, the wind shrieked, but neither of them paid attention. All they heard were the sounds of each other's breath and all they felt was the warmth of each other's touch.

****

By the time Wyborn's swords were completed, his chest had healed and he had resumed his training with a diligence that even Marion hadn't expected. Again she accustomed herself to his leaving the bed before dawn. He trained daily with his men and long after they'd finished, he remained on the snow-covered field, wielding his swords. Often Kell, Derek, and Stig remained with him, attacking him as ordered. He challenged his endurance by walking the length of the fence and the field beyond, trudging through the thigh-deep snow to the forest where he'd chop loads of firewood and drag back the full sled. At night, when they made love, Marion felt the changes in his body. He had been powerful and strong before, but now his muscles felt like iron beneath his

flesh. She hated the reason behind his obsessive training, but relished the effects on his body. Though she worried for him, she was no longer terrified by the thought of him taking revenge on Bodin and Sir William. He was ready, and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Often at dusk, he would continue Marion's sword lessons and practice throwing knives with her and Stig. Since Bodin's attack, she had kept herself armed at all times. Never again would she be a victim of Bodin or any man. Wyborn hated the thought of her fear, but agreed that she should bear arms since she possessed the skill to defend herself, though he vowed never again to place her in such danger. Even if he left, one of his men would be given strict orders to guard her at all times. Marion protested this at first, but finally relented, not only because Wyborn was immovable in his decision, but because she realized the good sense of it. One evening, she sat in her chamber working on the embroidery for Sonja's wedding gown and waiting for Wyborn to return from the field. She, Sonja, and Brenna had been planning the details of the wedding, which would take place in early fall when his family could travel from Scotland to meet his intended. When Wyborn stepped inside, she discarded her

sewing and met him halfway across the room, slipping her arms around his neck. "I was starting to think you'd be gone all night." She brushed her lips across his cheek. He simply held her and in his silence, she sensed something. "What is it?" She moved slightly back from him, her hands resting on his forearms. "Bodin was seen at an inn in York. It's time I started tracking him and William myself." "But it's the middle of winter." "I know. They won't be expecting it." She drew a steadying breath. "When will you be leaving?" "Tomorrow." Nodding, she walked to the window and parted the curtains. The icy wind snapping against her face proved that she was not in a nightmare, but Wyborn would be leaving her again. He had to find their enemies, especially Sir William. If the man had gone to such lengths to take Ravenhill, then they would never know peace until he was destroyed.

"When I come back, I intend to stay." "Wyborn, I understand your position and your duties." She met his gaze. "There are no words to truly describe how much I love you, Marion. I thank the gods for awarding me such a woman." In a fluid motion he lifted her into his arms and kissed her. With the utmost gentleness, he placed her on the bed. "Wyborn," she began, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. His intense sapphire gaze made her feel like she was wading beneath the surface of a calm, warm sea. He kissed her brow and her cheek, then touched his mouth to hers. His lips felt as soft as his body was hard. Closing her eyes, she moaned with desire. Her hands slid beneath his shirt and caressed his back. Ripples of passion coursed through her when he deepened their kiss and explored her mouth with his tongue. He left a trail of kisses down her neck and shoulder, then sat back on his heels and undressed her. When she lay naked beneath him, he discarded his clothes and covered her body with his, bearing most of his weight

on his forearms. Marion sighed, her heart racing with anticipation. Her soft breasts were pressed against his steely chest. Her nipples hardened beneath the rough, curling hair dusting his flesh. Playfully, she bit his shoulder. He groaned with need when she took his swollen manhood in her small fist and teased him with sensuous strokes. The warm, wet caress of his tongue on ear made her quiver with passion. Never had she loved anyone as much as she loved her chieftain. Suddenly he captured one of her nipples in his mouth. She arched against him, quivering as he drew hard upon her, one arm encircling her waist and pressing her close. His knee slid between her legs, yet he didn't rush to fill her with his rigid staff. He kissed her breasts, licked her nipples, dipped his fingers in her liquid core, and caressed her until his name was a ragged sigh on her lips. Then he took her, bringing them both to fulfillment with long, demanding thrusts that left them panting in the aftermath of love. Rolling onto his back, Wyborn tugged her close. Neither of them spoke nor slept. Marion thought only of the next time they would lie in each other's arms, never to be parted again.

Chapter Seventeen

All eyes in the seaside tavern fixed on Wyborn who strode across the room, his teeth grinding with fury and his hair and shaggy wool cloak matted with snow and ice. He kicked aside two empty chairs in his path, causing several patrons and a serving wench to leap out of his way. Bodin, who had been swigging ale on a dusty table in the corner of the room, stood and jumped for the nearest window. Wyborn's gloved hand caught him by the hair at his nape and dragged him across the tavern. Shouting for help, Bodin reached over his head and clawed at Wyborn's arms. He dragged his feet on the floor in an attempt to slow the chieftain's progress toward the door. Outside, wind and snow created an icy fog. Once they were a good distance from the tavern, Wyborn threw Bodin face down in the snow and drew one of the

swords at his hips. The pitiful excuse for a warrior rolled over, reaching for his own weapon. "I didn't kill her, you son-of-a-bitch!" Bodin spat, pushing himself to his knees. "Isn't it enough that you got everything that was mine? What makes you think you're so much better than the rest of us?" "You want what's mine so badly? Here's your chance to take it, Bodin. I know you talk about Ravenhill being yours, but not once have you faced me for it. You run like a weasel or attack my wife." "Look what the bitch did to me!" Bodin pointed to his scarred face. "Isn't this enough payment?" Wyborn walked closer to Bodin who stumbled backward. "Payment? There's not enough payment for what you did." "I never once tasted of her. I swear." "Do you know where Sir William is?" "Yes! Sir William. He's the one you want. He planned everything. I saw him not long ago. He mentioned you. Said he was looking forward to meeting you again. He gave me this, in case I saw you before he did."

Bodin's breath came in hard pants. Trembling, he reached into his filthy tunic and pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. Wyborn snatched it from his fist and glanced at it. Bodin's hand tightened on his sword and he took Wyborn's moment of distraction to attack. He shrieked when both his hand and his sword flew across the field, leaving a trail of crimson. Squeezing the spurting stump of his wrist between his legs, he dropped to his knees and whispered, "Have mercy." "I'll show the same mercy you did when you beat my wife and murdered my heir." "What are you talking about?" "Marion was with child." Wyborn held Bodin's gaze at the same moment he ran him through. Still, he felt little satisfaction as he watched Bodin's blood melt through the snow. Even killing the wretch would not bring back Marion's babe. After disposing of Bodin's remains, Wyborn turned his horse down the path from which he'd come. There had been little left of Bodin, not that he had been much of a man to begin with. Sir William was different. He wasn't weak like Bodin, but a powerful madman who realized, as Wyborn did, that the inevitable fight between them

would call upon the limits of their skill. Since their chance meeting in the tavern so many months ago, an unspoken challenge had been sent between them. It was more than simply a battle over land. In spite of his hatred for Sir William, or perhaps inspired by it, Wyborn felt an ironic thrill at the approaching match between them. Perhaps in his own way he was as twisted as Sir William. Though he loved Marion with all his heart, his spirit was still that of a warrior and it itched for satisfaction when such a challenge was presented. Wyborn took the parchment from his cloak, glanced at Sir William's bold penmanship, and crushed the message in his fist before beginning the journey back to Northumbria.

****

Wyborn had assigned Stig to guard Marion while he was away. The young warrior had always been a favorite of Marion, but he took Wyborn's order so seriously that the only time Marion had for herself was in her chamber. She'd snapped at the youth several times and he'd looked properly chastised, but continued

to follow her around like some great guard dog. On the first clear morning after days of snow and wild winds, Marion and Stig were riding through the village when a young girl, the daughter of a widow who lived on the outskirts of Ravenhill, approached. "Please come, my lady." Terror shone in the child's eyes. "My mother is ill." "What's wrong?" Marion helped the shivering girl onto the front of her saddle. "A fever. Please hurry!" Marion and Stig kicked their horses through the deep snow and finally reached the small, thatched cottage in the valley behind Ravenhill. The child practically dragged Marion off the horse and through the door, Stig close at their heels. No sooner had they stepped inside than Marion saw the widow tied to a chair by the fire. The child rushed to her mother and Stig fell to the floor, nearly crashing into Marion. Behind him stood a tall man with a raven beard and blue eyes colder than the snow outside.

"Lady Marion." The man bowed with mock politeness. Kneeling beside Stig, she noted that he'd been knocked unconscious by the flat of the man's sword. "Bodin was right. You are a lovely creature." The bearded warrior advanced on her, shadowing her with his great height and muscular build. She drew her sword from beneath her cloak and met his gaze defiantly. He smiled. "Oh I like this. I can see why your husband is so taken with you." Lunging at him, she nearly sliced his chest, but he leapt sideways and kicked a stool at her. She stumbled over it as he drew both of his swords. Marion continued her attack, and he narrowed his eyes in irritation, as it took him several moments to disarm her. "You've been well trained, but I haven't time for further observation." He grasped her wrists in one of his hands and dragged her toward the door. Marion bit into his hand, but his gloves were made of thick leather and he scarcely felt her teeth. She kicked him between the legs and he gasped, pinning her to the doorjamb, his pale blue eyes intent upon hers. "Unfortunately, we haven't time for that sort of thing either. Now if you want to remain conscious, you'll keep your feet and

teeth to yourself, at least for the time being." Marion stiffened in his grasp. "You needn't worry about dying," he reassured her, mounting his horse and yanking her onto the saddle in front of him. "I want you alive and healthy for Wyborn. He'll be joining us sooner or later. Where are my manners? We've met and fought, but I've yet to introduce myself." "I know who you are." "Clever girl. I'm so looking forward to fighting and killing your husband." Marion laughed. "So you think he'll win?" "I know he'll win." "Because he's Wyborn the Indomitable?" Sir William sneered. "No," Marion turned in the saddle to stare at him, "because you have me."

****

The first night of her abduction, Marion and Sir William took shelter beneath a crude lean-to he'd made in the woods. He cooked a rabbit he'd shot earlier that day and offered her the first choice of meat. She glanced suspiciously at the food. "Fear not, my lady. I haven't any poison with me. Besides, you're only worth something to me alive." Sir William took some of the meat and ate it. "See? Perfectly safe." Hesitantly, Marion ate. It would do neither her nor Wyborn any good if she starved herself. She knew that Wyborn would kill Sir William and they would finally be free. "Don't worry for your life, Lady Marion. Unlike Bodin, I have no interest in harming women or children. It's men like your husband who resurrect the blood thirst in me. He should be flattered that I think so much of his skills that I'm willing to go through this much trouble to plan the perfect fight."

"You're mad." "I know." William smiled, exposing even white teeth. "It's so liberating. I have tried to be sane. I've tried to be good. Honor and all that trash. It doesn't work, Marion. Not when men like your husband can take whatever they want. Murdering, raping, thieving animals." "Just like you?" William laughed. "Oh yes. I've learned much from Norsemen." "You're not the only person who has ever lost someone to raiders, you know. My family was slaughtered, and thanks to you and Bodin, I lost a child." William's smile faded. "I'm sorry about that, but there's nothing I can do about it. Wyborn wasn't there to help you because he was chasing his brother. Sven was more important to him than you and your unborn child." Marion's hands clutched the ground beneath her as she tried to keep her temper. "That's not true." "And he left you again, not to avenge you, but to satisfy his honor. So here you are once more, endangered. Just be grateful that I remember how to treat a lady."

William snatched her hand. When he tried to kiss the back of it, she scratched his face, leaving four long, bloody gashes across his cheek. He dragged her hands behind her back and bound them with a length of rope, then tied her ankles. "You're only angry because you know I spoke the truth. People hate to hear the truth, but not me. Nothing anyone can say will ever hurt or distract me. There's another truth that I know, Lady Marion. Wyborn loves you as much as a man like him can ever love a woman. He might have left you to rescue his brother, but he would give his life to save yours. Remember that as you watch him die. Remember that you've known the love of a warrior. That's a rare thing. I admire Wyborn in a way, that he can rule and love at the same time. Unfortunately, the two really don't mix." "What has hatred gotten you? You have no family, no land, and now no raiders. You're an outlaw. Dishonored. Unloved." William added another log to the fire and smiled at her. "All those things, my lady, have made me indomitable."

****

Wyborn's stomached tightened with dreaded memories of imprisonment when he approached Sir William's ruins. He remembered the men he'd lost, the sight of Sven in the evil knight's grasp, and the hours spent worrying for Marion. At least this time she was safe. He knew how much Stig cared for her and how loyal the young man had been to him. Even if he and Sir William killed each other, no harm would come to Marion. Sir William had nothing to threaten him with this time. No way to make him surrender. Wyborn stopped a short distance from the ruin. Sir William's tall, black-clad form appeared in the entrance. The knight lifted one of his swords and Wyborn dismounted, drawing his blades. There had been no tracks around the ruin and no sign of other warriors. By the look of the heavy, untrodden snow, he guessed that Sir William had been there for several days. "I could scarcely wait for you to get here." Sir William smiled, walking backwards into the ruin, guiding Wyborn out of the icy ground to where they could fight unhindered. "This is better than whoring."

"Then you've been doing it wrong." Sir William laughed. "A sense of humor. I never would have guessed you had one." The men circled each other, their faces streaked with firelight. "I'm waiting," Sir William glanced quickly at his raised swords. "Sodom and Gomorrah want your blood." "Typical of a man like you to name lifeless steel." Sir William's pale eyes glistened. "Come to me, Wyborn." "Eager to die?" "Let's put it this way: If I kill you, I'll enjoy every moment, then gather a new army and take your lands. If you kill me, I'll be freed from this worthless life. Either way, you'll put me out of my misery." Their swords clashed simultaneously and Sir William's laughter mingled with the roaring wind.

****

Below the ruin, Marion struggled against the bonds holding her. Sir William had tied the ropes well. Already her wrists were raw from the constant rubbing as she tried to slip free. Pausing for a moment, she listened to the echo of steel on steel. She knew Wyborn and Sir William were fighting and the suspense was driving her almost as mad as the evil knight. If she could free herself, then Wyborn could fight without hindrance. She felt around in the darkness for a jagged piece of rock, then began sawing the ropes upon it, not caring that her hands and arms were nicked and bleeding.

****

"Oh this is wonderful. Just wonderful!" Sir William exclaimed, his eyes glistening. He and Wyborn broke from each other, stalking one another like two male wolves fighting for leadership of the pack. "You're even better than I imagined."

Both men were perspiring in spite of the freezing winds blowing through the ruin and the snow falling through the gaps in the roof. Blood smeared Sir William's cheek where one of Wyborn's blades had grazed him. Wyborn's breeches were stained red where Sir William had cut his thigh, yet the injuries didn't hinder the warriors. "You love this as much as I do, don't you, Wyborn? I can see it in your eyes. Violence. Blood. Power. There is nothing like it, except perhaps wealth, and maybe, for a man like you, love, but even love pales next to honor. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why you killed Bodin. It wasn't really for your wife's sake, but for your own. If you really cared about the Lady Marion, you wouldn't have left her vulnerable again." "What are you talking about?" "You'll see." Wyborn lunged at Sir William with viciousness that seemed to surprise the knight. For several moments, William was only able to defend himself against Wyborn's onslaught. A lesser man would already have fallen beneath Wyborn's crushing blows, but not Sir William. He finally saw an opening and slashed Wyborn's upper arm. Fortunately, Wyborn had seen the blow coming and turned at the last second. Still, the

blade sliced through his clothing and flesh. Wyborn had no time to even glance at the wound since Sir William attacked brutally, inspired by the drawing of blood. Wyborn kicked the knight in the stomach, sending Sir William sprawling onto his back. The chieftain stabbed downward with both swords, but the knight rolled away and leapt to his feet. "Come, Wyborn. I know something you don't. Something about Marion. Even if you kill me, you won't be able to save her." "You don't have Marion." "You know me, Wyborn. Do I make empty threats?" Again their blades clashed. Wyborn's chest tightened with dread. Though his mind told him it wasn't possible for Marion to be in danger, his heart said otherwise. What if Sir William had managed to get to her? What if.... William's blade sliced Wyborn's left earlobe and blood ran hot down his neck. "Distracted, Wyborn?" William mocked, attacking again.

Wyborn whirled his blades, driving Sir William toward the outside of the ruin. He spun, slashing through the leather protecting William's chest. "Wyborn!" Marion shouted, climbing out of a hole in a corner of the ruin. Wyborn glanced at her, then back to Sir William. "Told you I had her," William panted. "You really should take better care of your wife." Steel clashed as Wyborn pushed Sir William outside. Their blood streaking the snow, they fought their way to the icy rocks behind the ruin, the ones that formed the caves. The men struck at each other while balanced precariously on the frozen cliff. "Your wife's a resourceful little bitch," William panted, blinking sweat from his eyes, his lips curved in a smile. Wyborn didn't speak, but attacked. "When you're dead, I might use her for myself. Never marry her, of course. I'm not that stupid." Wyborn remained silent, his face expressionless, completely focused on the fight.

"Why don't you say something?" William snarled. Swords flashed. Steel blinked in the winter sun. "Don't just give me that empty look! I know you feel, Wyborn. That's why I'm going to win. That's why you're here. That's why--" Sir William grunted in pain as Wyborn slashed his arm so deeply that he dropped one of his swords. William blocked the next blow and slipped on the rocks, kicking Wyborn's feet out from under him. Growling, Wyborn landed hard on his back. Sir William raised his remaining sword to strike, but Wyborn kicked him off the cliff. Crawling to the edge, Wyborn glanced over it. Somehow, William had caught hold of a root sticking out from between the rocks. He glared at Wyborn, his eyes filled with malice, and tried to pull himself upward. William's wounded arm couldn't accept the burden and he slipped. His head smashing against the rocks before he disappeared beneath the ocean's freezing depths. "Wyborn!" Marion rushed to him and he pulled her into his arms. "Is he dead?" "By the way he hit his head, I'd say so. Even if that doesn't kill him, he was losing enough blood from his

arm so that he wouldn't last. Still, I want to find his body to make sure." Marion and Wyborn searched the shoreline, but there was no sign of Sir William. "He was probably dragged out to sea," Marion said. "I'll have men search the coast and send word to the neighboring villages to watch for a body, but I don't think it will show up. The current is very strong here." Together they returned to the ruin where Marion bound Wyborn's wounds and he tenderly bandaged her scraped wrists. A short time later, they mounted his horse and rode home, his arms tight around her. "I won't leave you again, Marion. I promise." "Wyborn, I accept your life. I know you're a warrior." He shook his head. "From now on, the only fighting I'll do will be to protect our home. When I travel, you'll be with me, and I'll do that as seldom as possible. I love you and Ravenhill is home. Nothing is worth losing you or it."

"Wyborn," she turned and met his gaze, "I have something to tell you. I'm with child again." He smiled, broadly, ecstatically, unlike she'd ever expect of her warrior chieftain. Then he kissed her, deeply and lovingly, warming her in spite of the icy rain falling from the gray winter sky.

****

For several weeks, Wyborn's men watched the shore and combed through coastal villages for Sir William's body, but it had been washed out to sea. William's second sword had been found embedded in the rocks where he'd fallen, so all that was left of the mad knight were Sodom and Gomorrah. Winter passed and spring came, giving Wyborn and his men hours of work repairing the wall and the houses after the brutal winter months. There was planting to do, weapons to make, and training each morning. The families of many of Wyborn's men arrived from their homeland and settled in the valley, which Wyborn had planned on cultivating the year before. Marion, Brenna, and Sonja spent their days gathering herbs, overseeing

the proper management of the manor house, and preparing for the birth of Marion and Wyborn's child. One warm spring evening, Marion sat in her chamber sewing an infant garment while Wyborn put the finishing touches on a cradle he'd been building. Marion smiled at him. "It's lovely. I'm sure we'll use it many times over." He walked to her and stooped by her chair, cupping her cheek in his hand. "You're lovely." "I look like a cow. I still have three months to go and look how large I am already." "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He kissed her, his tongue tracing the delicate shape of her lips. She dropped her sewing and sifted her fingers through his thick hair. "Brenna's so excited that Kell and her niece are getting along." Wyborn raised his eyes to heaven. "She is one rough woman. I thought my sister was bad enough, but that beard...." "Whenever Kell saw her and said, 'What a woman!' I

could have died of shock." "I could have died of shock when she believed his wild stories." "Well, I was a bit worried about him, having heard stories about Brenna's niece." "I'm more worried about Derek marrying my sister." "Wyborn!" She playfully slapped his shoulder. "They make a wonderful match. His family will be visiting soon, and we're all prepared for a lovely wedding in the fall. It will be wonderful. Our baby will be born, Sonja will be married...." She paused a moment and smiled, taking his hand and guiding it to her belly. "Did you feel that?" "Strong. It's a boy." "I think it's a girl. I'll teach her to throw daggers and shoot a bow and arrow...." "What will be left for me to do?" "I say every man should learn how to change swaddling." He laughed and kissed her again. "You are a wicked

woman." That night, as they lay in bed, Marion sleeping peacefully in his arms, Wyborn stroked her hair and thought of how much had developed between them. He'd never intended to fall in love with her and had never thought she would love him. Soon they would have a child. Though he never spoke of his fears, he worried about Marion often. Childbirth was not a simple thing, and the thought of losing her tormented him. Each night he fell asleep concerned for her and each morning when he rose in darkness to go to the training field, he thought of her. She was so happy about the coming birth, and he admired her bravery. She stirred beside him, her hand caressing his chest and he covered it with his before joining her in sleep.

Epilogue

Three Months Later

"I can't believe how beautiful they are." Marion gazed at her plump newborn son sleeping against her breast and nearly identical daughter in Wyborn's arms. He sat on the bed beside her and she leaned against him, her eyelids heavy, ready for sleep after a long labor that had begun the night before. In spite of Brenna's initial protests, Wyborn had remained with her throughout her confinement. Marion had been grateful for his presence. There had been times when she thought she couldn't endure another moment of frustration and pain, but he'd held her when she needed holding, spoke words of encouragement when she felt exasperated, and remained a stable, understanding vent for her bouts of furious temper. "Of course they are. How can they not be when their mother is so?" Marion smiled, watching her son's tiny fist curl around her finger. "I want more."

Wyborn's eyes widened slightly and he kissed her hair, still damp with perspiration. "You're a warrior, Marion." "All women are, didn't you know that?" He passed his daughter to Brenna, then took his son from Marion and placed him in the cradle. "You'll be busy enough with these two not to worry about others for a time," Brenna said and glanced at Wyborn. "I should have guessed that you of all men would father twins. If Kell can do the same with my niece, I'll be a happy woman." Wyborn glanced over his shoulder at Marion. "Think of that. A family of bards right here in Ravenhill." "It would certainly be amusing." "What are you going to call our children?" "I was thinking of Birget after your mother and Raynor because if it hadn't been for him, we never would have married." He nodded, his expression pleased. "You should sleep." Sitting on a chair by the bed, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. He kissed

her tenderly. "Thank you for our children, Marion." "I love you, Wyborn." "I love you. Always."

The End

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