A Viking For The Viscountess by Michelle Willingham Page A

falsehoods, nor will I let him endanger my son. We were well enough without you, so you can take your Viking hoard—or whatever you want to call it—and go!”
    He trusted not the English words he’d used with her, and clearly her anger had not diminished. Best to simply take her back to the house and let her eat and rest.
    “I am going nowhere, Juliana of Arthur. And you lost the wager, if you will recall.”
    She jerked her arm away and continued walking toward the house. “Our wager is finished. If you want somewhere to stay this night, go and speak with the Duke of Somerford. I suppose the pair of you have a great deal you could talk about.”
    Arik wasn’t going to let her go that easily. “I have more that I wish to discuss with you.” He started to guide her toward the house, but she refused to take another step.
    “Not in the house. Someone has returned,” she told him, pointing toward the illuminated windows.
    “Then we will talk here.” Without asking, he lifted her up and brought her toward a wooden structure not far from the gardens.
    “Put me down,” Juliana insisted, squirming to get free. She weighed nearly nothing, and he ignored her protests as he opened the door. Inside, he found all manner of tools for tending the soil.
    “Now we will talk with no one to interrupt,” he said, setting her down near a large sack. Arik leaned against the door, blocking her from leaving. “Why do you believe that I lied to you?”
    “Because men do not simply wake up and know another language! You knew it all along, and you led me to believe that you wanted to help me and my son.” She lowered her tone, shaking her head. “I should have known that the only reason you brought me here was because it was close to the buried hoard. Perhaps you stole it and reburied it there.” She lifted her hands in a shrug. “Not that it matters, because in the morning, I am going back to my son.”
    Arik paused, trying to choose the right words to say. He used his own language, trusting those words more. “The first night we met, you gave yourself to me. Why?”
    Her face burned crimson. “None of that matters. It was a mistake, just as every moment with you has been wrong.”
    He remained on the far side of the room, speaking calmly. “It was because we were both spellbound. I believed I was with the woman I had been betrothed to. While you believed you were dreaming.”
    “Yes,” she admitted. “I couldn’t imagine you were real. And whoever you truly are, I want you to stay away from me and my son.”
    “Because you believe I have told you untruths.” He moved in, holding her waist with both palms. She was so slender, like a willow. Her hands moved to try and push him away, but she was no match for his strength.
    “I know you have.” Her voice had grown quiet now, and she ceased her struggles. He softened his hold in response.
    “Juliana of Arthur, as I have told you, the gods sent me here for reasons I cannot name. I do not know why my dream showed me the memories of a man whose father I met only an hour ago. Or why I can speak a language that is not my own. But this I swear to you—I will never hurt you or your son. I will guard you both and slay whatever enemies threaten you.”
    He lifted her chin with one palm. “Has no man ever fought for you, kjære ?” He touched the pulse at her neck. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her cheeks were flushed. Whether it was fear or desire, he could not know.
    She shook her head in silence. “I cannot believe what you say. None of it is true.”
    “You remember that night,” he whispered darkly. “It haunts you. The way it haunts me.”
    She tried to break free of him, but he held her fast. “You know that we were brought together somehow. I brought you swiftly to your pleasure, and you cried out for me.”
    “Don’t,” she warned him.
    He released her, and she pushed open the door, walking back toward the house. She gripped her skirts, hurrying as fast as