Viking Ecstasy by Robin Gideon

that Sven loved his leader and only wanted to do what was right, but to blame her for Tabor's injury was wrong. So unfair! And yet to argue this point with Sven would do her absolutely no good at all. When she looked at Tabor again, his eyes were closed, though she could tell that he was not yet asleep.
    "Can I get anything to make you more comfortable? Is your bandage too tight?"
    Tabor shook his head. "No. . . . you have done well . . . all that you can."
    "You should eat. The food will make you strong."
    "Later . . . later. . . . now I must sleep." He moved slightly and placed his right hand beneath his head to cushion it.
    "Let me help you," Tanaka said.
    She felt something akin to tenderness take bloom inside her heart for this strong man laid low by the loss of blood. Easing Tabor's shoulders up, she cradled his head in her lap.
    "Is that better?" she asked.
    "Much . . . much . . . bet — " he began, then drifted into sleep.
    Tanaka felt the salty sting of tears for the fallen warrior, and she wiped them away quickly, angrily. What was wrong with her? It meant nothing to her that he was weak with injury and might very well die. Nothing to her at all!
    But it did, and she knew it. She had spent very little time with Tabor, yet she knew much about him as a person. In all the time that she had been Ingmar's captive, she had learned nothing of him except his language and the extraordinary lengths to which his cruelty could go.
    Tanaka stroked Tabor's hair, smoothing it away from his gaunt cheek. Even now, asleep and injured, he was the most ruggedly handsome man she'd ever seen and easily the most muscular. There was a virility about him that was undisguised, even weakened by pain as he was now.
    She placed her palm on his chest, feeling the hard pectoral muscles beneath his shirt and vest, feeling his heart pumping.
    "I'll make you well again," Tanaka whispered, her vision blurred with unshed tears.
    At that moment, Sven approached. Tanaka, startled by his presence, recoiled at the sight of him, unable to forget the cold-blooded threat he'd issued. But instead of suspicion on his face, there was understanding. In his hands he held a brass plate filled with the hearty stew that the Vikings favored, and a warm blanket hung over his arm.
    Hunkering on his knees beside Tanaka, Sven handed her the steaming plate. The aroma of cooked beef, potatoes, and carrots made her mouth water. He slipped an arm around her shoulders to help her lean forward away from the tree trunk, then carefully wrapped her in the blanket.
    He was gone a moment later, and Tanaka could only wonder how difficult it must have been for a Viking warrior like Sven to serve her food and arrange a blanket around her shoulders. She had no illusions as to why he'd been so kind —because she was holding Tabor's head in her lap and Sven did not want his wounded leader to be disturbed —but nevertheless, the courtesy surprised her with new insight about those strange men called Vikings.

Chapter 8

    W hen Tabor awoke at dawn, his head on Tanaka's lap, he instinctively reached for his sword. He squeezed the familiar handle tightly and surveyed his surroundings with no further movement, not wanting yet to draw attention to himself.
    The encampment was at peace. Tanaka, sleeping, leaned against a tree. He noted the blanket but was struck again by her extraordinary beauty. When he'd first seen her, he'd thought her features were too exaggerated: high cheekbones and wide-spaced, almond-shaped eyes that reminded him of a cat at night; a slender chin and full-lipped mouth; round, heavy breasts that rested high on her rib cage; and jet black hair falling in loose springy ringlets. It astonished Tabor now that he had ever, for even a moment, found her beauty displeasing.
    He might have kissed her awake, but pain ripped through him the moment he moved his shoulder. Tanaka's eyelashes fluttered upon her cheeks, and she looked down at Tabor's head, still cradled in her