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Fiona let out a dry laugh. “I couldnae dae that tae my da.”

“Then tell him how you feel. Tell him that you don’t want to marry this man.”

“My feelings dinnae matter, nae when compared tae the clan. Besides, it’s nae as though there is anyone else proposing marriage tae me. This is all Lotta’s fault. She wants tae get married sae badly she is willing tae force me intae one just sae she can hae a husband. I suppose things are well for ye. At least ye get a wife, ye get tae stay here, and yer people will never be mistreated again. Things hae worked out well for ye.”

“Indeed, you might think that, except that I only accepted the marriage for the sake of my people as well. You know I do not have the same affection for Lotta that she has for me.”

“I tried tae tell her that, but it doesnae matter tae her. She will wear ye down. She is determined tae make ye love her, but I suppose the only thing ye care about is earning the glory of the gods. Does love play intae that at all, Varrik, or will they be pleased enough that ye hae found a home for yer people? I suppose it’s easier for ye. Perhaps there will be some war somewhere that requires good men. Ye can roam the land in the name of glory, and ye never hae tae be tied tae this place. Ye can leave yer wife behind, but for me, it’s different. I cannae be a warrior and a mother if I’m a Fletcher. I will hae tae say farewell tae the world and sit in the house, watching the barren world gae by as I bring child after child intae the world, and what am I suppose tae tell them when I speak of my dreams? What example am I suppose tae set for them?”

“I’m sure you will do well. It will do them good to have a mother as strong and vibrant as you,” he said.

Fiona turned and leaned her back against the wall, looking directly at him. The way her body was angled accentuated the natural femininity of her body, and for a moment, he was overwhelmed with desire. Her hair had become loose from her ponytail. Errant strands fell across her face in wispy lines. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips were full and sensual. There was something in her eyes. When she next spoke, her voice was filled with hesitation, as though she was unsure of the words she was speaking.

“When ye came intae the room the other day… I thought for a moment ye might hae been speaking up against it for another reason than because of what it meant for the Vikings.”

“And what reason would that be?” Varrik asked.

“I thought…I thought because ye cared for me.”

The words were forced from her lips, as though she almost didn’t believe it herself. Varrik studied her for a few moments in all her beauty, all her splendor.

“I didn’t think such an invitation would have been welcome. You made your disdain for Vikings clear. It was a miracle in the end that you managed to tolerate me at all. Even if I had thought about declaring my intentions to marry you, I fear I would have been met with nothing but laughter and ridicule.”

“And what if ye knew that would nae happen? Would ye hae spoken up then?”

“And what would I have said?” Varrik asked, sensing the rising tension in the air.

He stepped toward her. Fiona’s breathing deepened, making her chest heave. Her shawl parted, revealing the hollow of her throat. He was drawn to her, as though some kind of spell had been conjured to pull him by an invisible thread. Within moments, he was standing before her, looking down upon her. Her gaze was lifted, her eyes liquid. When he breathed, he inhaled her sweet scent, and it played havoc with his mind. She became his entire world, and he could feel himself losing his balance. He placed his hand against the wall of the stable beside her.

“Ye could hae said…ye could hae said how we haed grown close by dueling, how ye wanted tae make sure the Vikings were an important part of the clan, how a marriage with me would hae strengthened the bond between Highlanders and Vikings,” she said in a breathy whisper.

“I could have said that, but I would have been betting my entire reputation on it. I did not want to be humiliated when you could have easily turned around and said that you would never have married a Viking.”

“Dae ye really believe that?”

“Have you given me reason to believe otherwise?” he asked.

Heat simmered between them. He could sense the longing within her; she was betrothed to another, but she had always acted as though Varrik meant nothing to her. Would the gods smile on him for having the courage to take what he wanted, or would they be ashamed that he was shirking the laws of men?

Varrik’s question hung in the air. Their eyes were locked together, and she was searching his gaze as much as he was searching hers. For a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the world, just as they had felt when they had been alone in the woods together. There, Varrik had confessed his innermost secrets to her, had bared his soul in a way that he had never done before. Now it felt as though she was peeling away everything that he had ever wrapped around himself, exposing him, making him as vulnerable as a child.

To his surprise, Fiona shot out a hand and placed it against his chest. Her fingers toyed with the lace strings that held his shirt together and stroked the powerful muscles underneath.

“Is a life with Lotta the life ye want?” she asked.

“The life I want is to have a family. I want my child to know that he belongs in the world. But I always imagined the woman I’d marry would be strong and fierce, would never shirk from any challenge, and be able to defend herself. I always wanted a Viking woman or at least a woman who had a bit of Viking in her.”

“Lotta is half Viking.”

“Aye, but she knows nothing of our ways. She has never picked up a sword. When I fought with you for the first time, I knew that you had the heart of a warrior.”

“A heart that is gaeing tae be wasted with Alec Fletcher,” she said, her voice quaking with emotion. Her hand moved to his heart. His slid down across the wall, resting against her hip, unable to resist the urge to touch her, to be close to her again.

“And would it be wasted with me?” he asked, but he barely was able to finish the sentence before his words were suffocated in her kiss.

Her lips were soft and ardent, her arms slipping around him like vines. Her body was pressed against him just as it had when they were dueling, but this time there was no undercurrent of frustration or anger. There was nothing but passion and longing. He felt every sweet emotion in her kiss. It was as though his soul crumbled inside, as though he was weak and strong at the same time. A low, rumbling growl emanated from his throat as they kissed. The rest of the world melted away. There was nothing but her, and he only wished that they had done this sooner.