Page 91 of The Bewitched Viking

He saw the fear and stubbornness in her eyes war with the certainty that some battles were best conceded early on. She gave him her one hand, then the other, followed by both ankles. Soon, she was tied to the bed, spread-eagled and vulnerable.

But not vulnerable enough for his taste. Especially when he heard her murmur under her breath, “Troll!”

He took the small knife from the scabbard at his waist and approached the bed. She flinched involuntarily, obviously thinking he intended to cut her. Instead, he pressed the blade to her collarbone, holding her eyes the entire time…eyes that were green as the deepest ocean on a summer day and so fair they nigh took his breath away. Then he sliced her chemise from neck to hem, cutting away the shoulders, too. Now she was fully exposed to him.

God above! She’s beautiful, freckles and all. In truth, I am beginning to love freckles. Yea, I am. Every blessed one of them. Especially the ones…

With a concerted effort, he raised his eyes above her neck.

The green eyes grew glassy with unshed tears, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. He sensed instinctively that this blow to her pride would be more painful than any cut to her flesh.

“Well, why don’t you say it, Viking?” she spat out.

“Say what?” he said in a strangled voice.

“That I am the homeliest female this side of kingdom come. That I have so many freckles the devil must have been spitting for a sennight. That my breasts are too small to suckle a babe and my legs too long to cradle a man’s hips. That my red hair would scare a heathen Viking.” She turned toward the opposite side of the bed so she wouldn’t have to face his scrutiny.

He smiled at the last of her statements, which she didn’t even realize might be offensive to him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Who told you those things?”

She blinked in confusion at the gentleness of his touch. It was a momentary lapse.

“My husbands. My brothers.” She shrugged. “Everyone.”

He trailed a forefinger down the length of her arm, tracing a path of freckles. “Is the leopard any less splendid because of its spots?”

She said nothing, but a shiver passed visibly over her body. He was fairly certain it was not due to the cold.

He tugged at a strand of her hair, pulling it down to lie over one breast, which was indeed small, but lust-provoking, nonetheless. Fighting the tight constriction in his chest, and in his braies, he continued, “Is the lion with its fiery mane not magnificent?”

Her mouth parted in surprise at his sweet words.

“As to your form,” he said and had to cough away the raspiness in his voice, “none would fault the cougar for its sleekness. Those who would do thus with you have never really seen you.”

She stared at him—bedazzled by his own brand of sorcery, he would wager. But then she shook her head, as if to ward off unpleasant thoughts. “What are you trying to say, Viking? Spit it out.”

He rose and walked to the far corner again, choosing not to address her hurled words just yet. Returning to the bed, he placed another of the boxes atop the furs.

“You are beautiful, Alinor. Unbiddable, shrewish, foolish, for a certainty, but beautiful nonetheless. Never doubt it. That is what I meant,” he told her as he unlatched the long, flat box with its fancy carvings—a purchase he’d made from a sultan who had been disbanding his harem.

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. As well she should be.

He opened the lid of the box, displaying the vast array of peacock feathers. All sizes and textures. And he smiled.

“Now, ’tis time to see if the she-cat can be made to purr.”

Chapter Fourteen

What was the troll up to now?

After setting the box of peacock feathers on the bed next to her naked body and making the cat purring remark, Tykir had left her alone. And now he’d been gone for more than a half hour.

Was it a form of torture?

Of course it was.

Did he want her to contemplate her crimes and wonder exactly how he would punish her?

Of course he did. Not that she’d committed any great crimes, and certainly none that were not warranted. She was the aggrieved party here, not him.