One
Ivar’s eyes swept across the battlefield as the hair on the back of his neck caused his sweat-covered skin to prickle. He took in the overcast skies—skies that did not match the scorching sun the Norse warriors had experienced during these last weeks in the Mediterranean. The darkened skies matched his current mood as he panted, trying to slow the adrenaline coursing through him after his last engagement with their Arab enemies. He had just slayed an enormous dark-skinned man whose guttural Arab language was still foreign to Ivar Sorenson’s Norse ears. As Ivar looked into the dead man’s vacant eyes, he watched a crow’s reflection fly overhead. Odin’s messengers Hunnin and Munnin brought a cheer from Ivar’s fellow Norse warriors, who celebrated their victory with praise to their gods. But Ivar could not be less interested in prayer as he once again scanned the fallen bodies and those still on their feet, looking for a particular blonde head with a face that possessed the deepest cobalt-blue eyes he had ever seen. Ivar’s stomach clenched as he searched for Lena Tormudsdóttir.
“Lena? Lena!” Ivar called out as his heart began to pound with fear unlike any he had experienced in the battle only moments earlier. “Lena!”
“Ivar?”
Ivar ran in the direction of the voice that he feared he would never hear again; it had never sounded sweeter. He wove through members of his clan and leaped over the bodies of fallen Arabs and Norsemen, pushing past a group of women to where Lena stood. Disregarding those around him, Ivar pulled Lena into his arms. After a brief glance to reassure himself that she was uninjured, he stroked her cheek and dove in for a searing kiss that brought conversations around them to an abrupt end.
Lena’s toes curled within her boots. The feel of Ivar’s body pressed against hers reminded her of their time spent coupling the night before. Her hands roamed over his back and shoulders as the tension eased with each of her caresses. The intensity of his kiss deepened as he groaned within her mouth, his tongue swirling and mating with hers, mimicking what they both longed to do with their bodies.
When they broke apart at last, their foreheads pressed together, Ivar smattered kisses on the tip of her nose as he cupped her jaw.
“You scared me,” Ivar’s hushed voice brushed warm air across Lena’s face.
“You’re scared of nothing, or so you told me,” Lena brushed her lips against Ivar’s.
“There is a first for everything. I couldn’t find you.”
“But you did. You’re holding me now,” Lena pressed another soft kiss to Ivar’s mouth.
Ivar pulled back and swept Lena into his arms. He did not look back to see who snickered or tossed randy comments at his back, nor did he care that his father’s commander, Magnus, was calling to him. Ivar carried Lena across the low grassy field to a copse of olive trees, cursing that their spindly branches would not give him the privacy that the fir trees in the Trondelag would offer. When they were a safe distance from the others, he placed Lena on her feet again and pulled her against him.
“Now I am holding you,” Ivar’s voice rumbled within his broad chest. “And I intend to hold you all through the night as I make love to you over and over until I am convinced you are safe and within my reach.”
Lena’s brow furrowed as she looked into Ivar’s hazel eyes. She saw a tempest brewing unlike any she had seen before. She and Ivar had known each other their entire lives, having grown up together and trained together; they had started sharing their furs four years earlier. There was something different about the tension between them, something that was no longer merely physical.
“Ivar, what’s wrong?”
Ivar’s brows shot up before he once again stroked Lena’s cheek, tucking hair behind her ears.
“Nothing is wrong. I was afraid when I couldn’t find you, and now I’m not because you are here with me.”
“We have fought plenty of battles over the years, and many since we began sleeping together, but you have never reacted like this. What happened?”
Ivar straightened and looked over Lena’s head. While she was tall even by Norse standards, she still fit tucked beneath his chin when he held her as he had only moments ago. He pictured the fight he had narrowly won. The Arab had nearly severed Ivar’s head from his shoulders with more than one swing of his sword, and it had taken every ounce of Ivar’s remaining strength to fend off the giant. Ivar stood well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a well-muscled back that came from years of swinging a sword and an axe. He pushed himself to be the best among all of his father’s warriors and was stronger than many of the tribesman by far. As the jarl’s heir, Ivar bore the responsibility of being his clan’s future leader. But even at Ivar’s towering size, the Arab warrior had stood half a head taller and was significantly heavier, making his blows rattle Ivar’s teeth. Ivar had been certain he would die during that battle until a whiff of Lena’s scent, a combination of Norse lavender from the Trondelag and incense found in the land they now explored, filled his nostrils and created a fierce need. A need for her and a need to survive. That momentary reminder drove Ivar to fight until he was the victor and able to search for the woman he realized he could not live without.
“I nearly died.”
Lena offered him the placating smile one might offer a child who said something inane.
“We’ve all nearly died. I nearly died more than once today. How is that any different from any other battle?”
“Don’t say that.” The hoarseness in Ivar’s voice gave Lena pause. “Don’t ever say that. You can’t die.”
Ivar pulled her against him and tucked her head under his chin as he stroked her hair. Lena paused before stroking her hand over his chest and curling her arm around his waist.
“Ivar, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
“I thought I would never see you again. First that I would die; then when I couldn’t see you, I thought you might have---” He finished on a muffled sob.
It was Lena’s turn to cup his face within her hands and run her thumbs over the bristled cheeks. “I’m here with you now. And besides some cuts and scratches, we are both just as hale as we were before the battle. You’re still scaring me.”
“Lena, I love you.”
Lena’s eyes flared open as her heart thumped behind her ribs. She never thought to hear Ivar confess what she had felt in her heart for years. They had begun their physical relationship after a drunken feast, but it had quickly developed into companionship and fidelity, neither seeking the company of another. They spent most nights together, and they enjoyed their time spent with each other during the day. But Lena was not the daughter of a jarl, and that made her an unsuitable long-term match for Ivar. Though it was painful, she had assumed Ivar did not share her feelings, knowing their relationship had no chance of progressing beyond what it was now.
“Lena, I’ve always loved you. My heart has known it since we were children, even if my head wouldn’t allow me to admit it. Something clicked into place today, and I refuse to ignore what’s obvious. I love you.”
