A warrior with one long, almost black braid moved with an easy, rolling gait. His lips quirked as he slowly came to rest beside her.
“Hello. I’m Bjorn. Son of Amund.”
The immediate shock of him knowing her language receded quickly. His eyes roamed over her, not hungry, but inquisitive. She snapped in his direction, her fury from her fight with Njáll still simmering beneath the surface.
“My name is not yours to know, and I am the daughter of someone you have never met.”
Dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth as he chuckled. Bjorn scrubbed a hand over his nape, color blooming in his tanned cheeks.
“I can see why our Jarl is fascinated by you. You have a sharp tongue and cutting beauty.”
She didn’t miss the appreciation in his tone with his remarks.
Despite that, he stayed a respectable distance away.
While he stayed focused on the inlet, his gaze drifted to her and Bjorn, his muscles bunching under his tunic.
It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t make her so confused.
“What do you know of beauty and sharp tongues, Bjorn, son of Amund?”
A wide smile split across his face, pushing his cheeks toward his eyes. She worried she might have misread this warrior, and her comment would bring unwanted advances. He drew the pad of his thumb across his lower lip.
“They claim even the strongest of men.”
She blinked, her lashes fluttering.
When she looked up, her gaze locked with Njáll’s. A possessive glint darkened in his eyes, but it wasn’t aimed at her. No, all his ire was trained on Bjorn, the threat in his unspoken look undeniable.
Still grinning like a madman, Bjorn clapped her on the shoulder, like a brother would greet his little sister.
“What did you do to anger him?” she asked.
“Reminded him of a weakness.”
“And what is that?”
“You.”
Elara’s breath hitched in the salty sea air. When her gaze returned to Njáll, he radiated a cold fury.
Then she realized the truth: she wasn’t a pet nor a goddess.
Instead, she was a pretty curse threatening his existence as Jarl.
They were destined to be each other’s undoing.
Eight
Njáll
White-foamed waves crashed into the underside of the ship as it pushed through the final dredges of its journey, the shore now in sight.
Laughter and shouts grew among the warriors, all of them eager to return to their furs and their konas.
For him, however, their approach didn’t bring the same excitement. It brought a crushing realization of what awaited him when they arrived. Uncertainty lodged itself between his ribs, stabbing him with each weary sigh.
Age had not dulled the Konungr’s wolfish instincts. The moment they arrived, his keen gaze would land on the girl, and it wouldn’t take long for him to discern she was more than a mere trophy to Njáll.
