Skadi’s eyes widened. ‘His…back was turned and he was overwhelmed by your men—’
‘He was attacked by a group of men. But they were not mine.’
‘Convenient.’
‘True.’
They glared at each other for a moment, neither one of them willing to back down, until Skadi leaned forward to ask, ‘Why are you contesting this? You told me yourself that you killed him! That youwantedto kill him!’
‘I did.’
She shook her head and threw up her hands with an exasperated huff. ‘Well then!’
‘I challenged him to a death match,openly, and he couldn’t deny it. I am a man of power now, with my own army behind me. It was the only reason I was there, to meet him honourably, away from the walls of his kingdom. The only way I could win back my birthright, without attacking Thrudheim directly. The day was set, and then Sven asked him to plunder the village to the north.
‘I suspected Sven was trying to delay the challenge, so I followed. When I arrived at the village, Heimdall had made bloody work of the Saxon peasants and appeared to have travelled onwards, even further north. When I caught up with him, his men had been ambushed. Heimdall lay bleeding on the ground, crawling towards his sword. I gave him the mercy of a quick death and allowed him to face me sword in hand. It was far more than he deserved.’
Skadi had been staring at him with exasperated disbelief, right up until he’d described Heimdall’s death. Then her expression had faltered and he’d seen doubt in her eyes, the same uncertain expression he’d seen all those years ago, right before she’d asked Heimdall not to kill him. He still remembered her words of supposed mercy,‘He is no one, Heimdall, just a child…leave him, he is no match for you and never will be.’
The same words had spurred him on to defeat Heimdall twenty years later, to demand his birthright and to show Heimdall that he was not only an equal match…butbetter.
But then her stubbornness flared to life and she haughtily informed him, ‘That is your recollection. I am sure Sven would have another tale to tell.’
‘I am sure he would. King Sven is not and has never been your ally.’
She bristled, rising from her seat and walking towards a wooden screen at the side of the bed. ‘No one is! According to you!’ she hissed the words, although this time, her voice was more tired than aggressive and he decided against riling her further. She would realise the truth in time—or perhaps she had always known it? And had lived all these years in denial of her mistake…that was far more likely.
He heard her fumbling with clasps and ties.
‘Do you need help?’
‘You dismissed my handmaid, remember!’ she grumbled back, and there was more huffing and straining from beyond the screen.
Impatient with her obstinance, he walked around the screen to find her with a dress half over her head as if she were caught in a sack.
Smiling to himself at the absurdity, he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of her ridiculous struggle, because for once she appeared fallible. But he knew she would not thank him for it, so he lowered his smile and helped yank the tight-fitting gown over her head. There was a small tearing sound and he was sure a seam had split somewhere.
She emerged from the bundle of fabric red faced and irritated.
He handed her the gown and stepped back around the screen. ‘I’m sure you can manage the rest.’
An unwelcome tide of emotion rushed through him and he struggled to regain his control. He had wanted to keep going, to rip every elegant seam and shield from her armour. To strip her bare.
Why did the thought arouse him so much?He’d had Byzantine courtesans dance naked in front of him at the Emperor’s palace. They’d fallen into his lap like ripe fruit—paid, of course, and used as a temptation by the Emperor to try to entice him to remain as part of his army in Constantinople. But even so, he’d been less intoxicated by their blatant invitations than he had been by the sight of Skadi’s furiously wriggling body.
The soft sound of her dress tearing had filled his mind with wicked possibilities, of him ripping the remaining shift from her body and ravaging her against the wall. To have her powerless under his control. Not with fear, but with passion.
He had never wanted a woman more…and yet, he loathed her. Hated every ignorant, spoilt and stubborn thing she had ever done.
Why, then, did he want her so badly? Would taking her satisfy his ambition, soothe his pride? Symbolise a final triumph and victory? Would reclaiming her ease the heartache of the past? Console the hurt and frightened child he’d once been?
Did he need her to finally see him as a man?
To want him as a man?
Ridiculous!He had to control himself, or he’d risk looking a fool.
Chapter Eleven
