The Viking's Woman by Heather Graham Page B

patient, though, and cunning. She fervently wished that she had not fought the king so forcefully when he had first brought the news to her, for now she would have to cultivate his trust carefully. Today she would just stay here for the morning and stroke the soft noses of the animals. She would whisper to them and choose her mount. She needed the strongestand swiftest of them. She could not judge them easily here, but she was familiar with horseflesh and breeding and could choose a sound mount to ride when the time to escape rolled around.
    She smiled, pausing where the roan was stalled. He was not the finest beast but had delivered her once from imminent danger. She paused to stroke the creature and then heard her name whispered softly, brokenly, and heartrendingly.
    “Rhiannon!”
    She turned; she knew the voice. Rowan stood there, tall and handsome in his linen chemise, short leather tunic, and sturdy hose. His sword was at his side, his eyes plagued by misery. His face remained ashen, yet she thought that it had taken courage for him to come there after the king had spoken on her fate.
    She cried out his name and rushed to him. His arms tightened around her. He swept her from her feet and carried her to a mound of hay, and they fell there together. He held her as if she were a priceless treasure. She reached up and touched the curling locks of his hair that fell to his neck, then moved her palm lovingly over his bearded chin. “Rowan!” she whispered, and sobs bubbled up within her.
    He saw the tears in her eyes. He touched her lips with his fingers. And suddenly she remembered everything about him, remembered why she loved him. He had been with the party that had returned her father’s body to the coast when Garth had died, and when she had fallen over his form in tears, Rowan had taken her up. When the horror had been too much, he had lifted her into his arms. And in the days thatfollowed, he had spoken of her father’s courage and determination. He had given much of Garth back to her, and for that alone she could have adored him.
    He held her away and stroked her cheeks, staring at her face as if he could imprint the memory of it forever on his heart. She felt a new surge of fear, for she now realized how fully he had accepted the king’s will and realized that she truly had no help for it.
    “We should have married before,” he said dully. “We should have married ere now and the king could not have done this thing.”
    “It is not done yet,” she murmured.
    “Rhiannon …” He pressed her back against the hay and moved over her. She suddenly felt keenly aware of the moment, of all sensation. The scent of the hay rose up, and she heard each shuffle of the horses’ hooves, felt the very texture of the flesh on his palms. The day was ridiculously beautiful, she knew, beyond the paneling of the barn. It was spring in Wessex; the grass was green and the brooks and streams bubbled and laughed. And she loved the man here beside her.
    If they were caught together, though, they would both be condemned as guilty of defying the king’s will. Nay, it went further, for she knew that it was not only Alfred’s will but his honor, as well, at stake.
    Alfred’s honor—and perhaps Rowan’s life.
    She scrambled up upon the hay. “Rowan! If someone saw you come here … I am afraid.”
    “Hush. No one saw me. I would not jeopardize your future so.”
    “My future!” She reached out again, needing to touch him. He had kissed her before, had held her.She knew his touch and cherished it. Perhaps she felt no great stirring wonder, but she did feel loved and secure in his embrace.
    Suddenly, bitterly, she wished that she had given herself to him before. She could not believe in honor now; she had been sold to a heathen, and so honor could matter little. She might have gone forth from there with one sweet memory of having been loved. She smiled at him tenderly. “Think not of my honor, love, for such a thing is