Viking by Connie Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

should appease Bretta. Sell the thrall to me. She pleases me. I will pay whatever you ask. I have just sent my latest mistress packing and I need another to serve me in bed.”
    Thorne felt the sharp rise of his temper. The vision of Fiona in Rolo’s bed sent a rush of anger through him. His fists curled at his sides and his fire-and-ice eyes darkened. “Fiona is not for sale.” He grasped Fiona’s arm possessively and dragged her away.
    “What was that all about?” Fiona asked as she stumbled after Thorne.
    “That was Rolo, Bretta’s brother. He wants to buy you for his bed.”
    Fiona glanced over her shoulder at Rolo and shivered. He was every bit as fierce looking and menacingas his fellow Vikings. His shaggy, unkempt hair was red instead of blond and his beard nearly touched his chest. His bushy eyebrows grew together across his brow, giving him a permanent scowl. He appeared strong enough to break her with his two hands.
    Fiona dug in her heels. “You didn’t sell me, did you?”
    Thorne came to a halt, dragging Fiona against the hard wall of his chest. He looked down into her eyes and saw a flicker of fear. He should sell her, he thought. It would certainly solve a lot of problems. His family didn’t want her, and his betrothed had declared her an enemy. But some perverse demon inside him balked at the thought of selling her. Aye, he was bewitched, all right, there was no other plausible explanation for his obsession with the violet-eyed beauty. It came to him suddenly that he could not wed Bretta until he had found a way to break Fiona’s spell.
    “Nay, I did not sell you, though ’tis still a possibility. If you do not remove your spell, I may be forced to sell you so that I may live in peace with my wife.”
    Fiona paled. “Nay, Viking. I am no witch. Look into your heart and see me for what I truly am.”
    His lips were very close to hers when he said, “When I look into my heart I see more than I wish to see.”

Chapter Four
     
    Fiona tore her gaze away from the seductive promise shimmering in the hot blue depths of Thorne’s eyes. She recalled Brann’s prophesy and wanted to run as fast and as far as her legs would carry her. It seemed inconceivable that her future was linked to that of a violent pirate and marauder. How could his hands, stained with the blood of innocent souls, make her flesh tingle and burn? How could she look at his hard mouth and want him to kiss her? God help her, for she was in danger of losing her soul to the Devil.
    Thorne felt Fiona shy away from him and came abruptly to his senses. His mouth was so close to hers he could feel her soft breath against his lips. What in Odin’s name was he doing? With a cursehe pushed her away, aware that they were being watched.
    “Bretta is right,” he said harshly. “Neither of us is fit to enter the house. We will visit the bathhouse first.”
    He hailed a slave who was drawing water from the well. “Bring clean clothing to the bathhouse, Tyra, I would bathe before entering the house. And bring something for my new thrall to wear. Her clothing is too fine for a slave.”
    “Aye, my lord,” Tyra said as she hurried off. “Welcome home,” the pretty thrall threw over her shoulder.
    “You have a bathhouse?” Fiona asked. She was of the opinion that Vikings never bathed.
    “Aye, and a fine one it is.” He pointed out a small, circular hut. “The tub is large enough for two.”
    Fiona’s eyes widened. “For two?”
    “Are you hard of hearing, wench? Come, your first duty will be to bathe me.” He grasped her hand and dragged her toward the hut. The door was open and he shoved her inside.
    The windowless room was dark and smoky. The only light came from the fire burning beneath the large cauldron of boiling water. A huge wooden bathing tub dominated the room. Fiona gazed wistfully at it, longing for a long soak … alone.
    Moments later three male thralls entered the hut and began to fill the tub with equal amounts of hot