Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 by Emma Prince Read Free Book Online Page A

pointed to the sea surrounding them.
“Water.”
    A slow grin spread
across his face. “Wa-ter,” he said haltingly.
    “Aye, I need water,”
she replied, relief flooding her.
    Suddenly Grimar
snatched her up and carried her to the gunwale. She shrieked in terror as she
looked down to find her feet dangling above air—air and the ocean.
    She clawed at him,
trying to latch onto him so that he couldn’t throw her overboard. He leaned
farther out, his arms lowering her closer to the sea.
    “Water!” he shouted.
Despite her desperate attempts to fight her way back onto the safety of the
ship, she was nothing compared to his strength and size. He laughed as she
screamed again.
    All at once, she was
jerked backward and the ship’s deck reappeared beneath her feet. Before she
could say a prayer of thanks, however, she was torn from Grimar’s grasp and
tossed to the deck.
    Shouts erupted all
around her. She scrambled back from the cacophony, only to bump into someone’s
legs. A circle had formed, and she was in the middle of it.
    She looked up and
realized that actually two men were the center of attention within the
circle—Grimar and Eirik. Eirik shoved Grimar hard, his eyes blazing and a
string of shouts coming from his mouth. Grimar stumbled backward from the force
of the push, but as he came forward again, a blade flashed in his hands.
    Everyone around her
fell instantly silent at the sight of the dagger flashing in the light of the
setting sun. She saw Eirik’s face harden and his fists clench, yet he didn’t
draw a weapon, despite having a dagger at his belt. The two exchanged words once
more, but this time they both spoke levelly. Slowly, Grimar lowered the dagger
and re-sheathed it. The crowd began to dis per se,
the men returning to their tasks, yet the air was taut with unspent energy.
    The female Viking
materialized at Laurel’s side, inconspicuously handing her the waterskin she’d
offered before. But this time, after Laurel had taken a long, greedy pull, the
woman refused to take the skin back.
    “Keep,” she said in
heavily accented version of Laurel’s language, pushing the skin back into her
hands. Laurel nodded her thanks, unsure of what to make of the kindness of some
of these barbarians.
    “Be-ware,” the woman
whispered as she moved to stand. But instead of pointing to Grimar, she leveled
her finger at Eirik, who was approaching them.
    Before Laurel could ask
the woman what she meant by warning her against Eirik, she dissolved back with
the rest of the crew.
    Eirik crouched before
her, his face hard. “Are you all right?” he asked tightly.
    “Aye,” she said
shakily, taking another swig of water to soothe her throat and settle her
stomach.
    “Why are you so afraid
of water?” Eirik’s look seared into her, searching, possessive.
    “I-I cannot swim,” she
breathed. “And the nuns used to hold me underwater as punishment.”
    A look of anger,
followed by sadness, flitted across his features. Before he could say more,
however, a shadow fell across where they crouched on the deck.
    Laurel looked up to
find Grimar looming over them. He said something in his language to Eirik, and
Eirik’s brow lowered. He stood and stepped back from where she sat.
    Grimar wrapped a hand
around her arm and yanked her to her feet. When she struggled to get out of his
grasp, he twisted her arm behind her back painfully, forcing her to follow him.
He stepped toward the ship’s bow, the farthest point from where Eirik stood as
he resumed his grip on the tiller.
    She watched the
golden-haired warrior over her shoulder as Grimar dragged her after him.
Eirik’s hand clenched and unclenched on the wooden tiller until his knuckles
were white. She could still see his bright blue eyes, blazing with unspent
rage, until Grimar tossed her down on the deck.
    Grimar lay down in
front of her and acted like he was going to sleep. His large body cornered her
into a narrow triangle of deck at the bow, giving her barely