Page 5 of To Wed a Highlander
Still caught in his clutches, she gasped when he swept her up and over one massive shoulder, his arms avoiding the raw lashes on her back. He carried her away from the comforting heat of the fire wall. Away from the frantic cacophony of whimpering women, and bellowing Vikings.
Where did he plan on taking her?
Ducking beneath the awning, he stopped and took in two quick breaths before selecting the door that led to the kitchens and then the chambers above. He none-too-gently climbed the back stone stairs of the abbey and stalked down two dank and narrow halls—hardly wide enough for his shoulders—before he kicked open a chamber door three down on the left.
Herchamber door.
His nose, it seemed, had led him here.
Choosing to ignore those implications, Kenna couldn’t suppress a wince as the Viking lowered her to her feet, still taking care with her wounded back.
Beneath her weight, her legs buckled as though her muscles were made of bread dough, and the beast caught her by the shoulders, propping her up.
They shared a curious moment of investigation.
Kenna had to tilt her neck back at an alarming angle to meet eyes as perceptive as time and yet opaque as a moonless night. They could have belonged to the devil. Hadn’t the Bible called Lucifer theStar of the Morning? Wouldn’t a creator’s favorite son be blessed with features such as these?
Golden-hued perfection. Skin like amber glass cut and shaped by raw bones and thick sinew. This warrior was a stoic mystery. Only a few weathered lines branching from his eyes hinted at age, or maybe just a restless spirit. His mouth, set with ruthless ferocity, called to her with an erotic challenge.
For a man emulating violence, he also seemed relaxed.
She wished she could step out of his grasp. It seethed with power, and power was something she needed at the moment. It called to her as though begging to be a part of her.
And, though it should have been impossible, her body answered that call.
Kenna considered her options, which weren’t many. She’d saved the nuns of Westmire Abbey from a violent death at the hands of this Berserker, and in doing so, she may have brought about the end of days.
Goddess help her, but she was impetuous. Always had been. Acted with little regard and spoke with even less thought. She was supposed to be protecting the Doomsday Grimoire in this most unlikely of places. The only way she could stay hidden from the evil witches searching for it was to refrain from using her fire magick.
Now she’d not only used it, but drained the rest of the powers she’d been working so hard to suppress. Not only was her magick weak, but her body was also. Not just weak, but wounded, and she hadn’t the gift for healing like her cousin Morgana did.
Kenna’s element was fire. And, though it was one of the more powerful and dangerous elements, it wasn’t among the earth’s most abundant resources like air or water. It needed fuel. Ignition. Something upon which to burn. Those druids who were evil or lazy used powerful and plentiful resources upon which to feed their fire. Fear, anger, and hatred.
But those who were actual practitioners of elemental magick, who understood from where true power could be found, drew theirs from the well of the less profuse, but ultimately infinite. The potency of passion overcame fear and anger. The intensity of love always conquered hatred. It was from sensations such as these that Kenna knew she could revitalize her strength in order to face the dangers that lie ahead.
She thought of the nuns in the courtyard, most of whom were generous, pious women. Of her cousins Malcom and Morgana with whom she shared the bond of blood, duty, and magick. Of the book hidden in the walls of her room that contained the secrets of the Goddess and the workings of the cosmos. Of all the souls who were and are and would ever be, who needed this earth upon which to live out their incarnations.
She thought of extraordinary men, like the one supporting her weight and staring at her as though she held his universe in her hands.
She did, after a fashion, and it was heavy.
He was supposed to be attempting to tear her limbs from her body in true Berserker form. The fact that he didn’t only meant one thing.
Their eyes met and held. Hers heating with fire. His cold with a fathomless abyss, but unmistakable intent.
The Berserker wanted her, and that was just as well, because he was a powerful being with magick of his own. And his magick wasjustwhat she was after, and there was only one way to get it.
“Take off your clothes, warrior,” she whispered. “I need you inside me.”
Chapter 3
Heat raced through Kenna’s veins, settling as a familiar and insistent throb between her legs. If her own reaction to the very idea of lying with this man was so powerful, she could only imagine how the act would feel.
The Berserker made a low sound, half warning, and half disbelief. Then another sound permeated the air, this one a rip, and the rest of her soiled dress slid to the floor.
“Nay,” she whispered softly, trying to think beyond the haze of pain and lust and heat now permeating the chill left by the rainstorm. “’Tisyouwho should disrobe.” She gestured to his layers of woven linen and leather armor belted and strapped with sharp-looking studs.
He didn’t speak. Not once. And Kenna got the impression that it was impossible for him to do so in this form. But the look he gave her as he tore through the buckles of his armor—not stopping to undo them—could have steamed the rainwater from her skin.
