Surrender to the Viking. Joanna Fulford

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      Chapter Six

      For a few moments Lara was too stunned to move. Then she crept to the door and listened, half expecting a trick. The sound of retreating footsteps assured her otherwise. With shaking hands she barred the door and then leaned against it, trying to assimilate what had just happened. Never in a thousand years would she have expected the evening to end like this. Her imagination had supplied a more graphic image in which she was pinned to the bed while he did his will. She swallowed hard. He could have raped her; he was frighteningly strong. Her wrist still bore the imprint of his fingers. All her efforts to resist had done no more than afford him some light amusement. His taunts were still ringing in her ears. Even his avowed wish to have sons had been nothing more than provocation. He wasn’t concerned with getting sons at all: what mattered to him were ships and swords. That was why he had agreed to this marriage. He had no interest in her; he didn’t even like her. Quite possibly, when he had resolved his immediate problem with his enemies he would put her aside citing her refusal to consummate the marriage. No one would blame him or question his right to do it either. If he put her aside she would be returned to her father. The consequences of that would be dire. Alternatively she could crawl back to Finn and beg him to take her. Her jaw tightened. I’d rather be in a midnight fire at sea. She would never submit to him or go willingly to his bed.

      * * *

      Finn sat down on a rock at the end of the promontory and watched the rising moon silver the dark water of the fjord. The night was still. Even the sound of revelry from the hall didn’t carry this far. The participants were no doubt imagining him locked in a passionate embrace with his bride. He grimaced. The only way that could have happened would have been to give way to baser urges. Thor’s teeth but he’d been tempted; tempted to give the little spitfire something to think about. The possibilities afforded him fierce momentary satisfaction. Had he given in to temptation it would have been no more than she deserved. If ever a woman needed to be taught who was master it was she. In the whole history of the world there had never been such a proud, contrary, wilful, infuriating little hussy.

      He let out a long ragged breath. As he’d been expecting her to reject his advances tonight he ought not to have felt disappointment. It was utterly illogical and it was the fault of that earlier kiss. While he’d thought to enjoy it he could never have anticipated that he would find it so deeply arousing.

      That wasn’t all he found arousing either. A man would have to be dead not to be aware of her fiery beauty. Most of all it was the challenge she represented, a challenge he’d been unable to ignore from the outset. However, physical mastery wasn’t enough. When he took Lara—and he would take her—it was going to be with her willing consent. She would submit; would yield all of herself to him. It was a heady prospect and, he admitted, a distant one. In the meantime he had more pressing concerns. When he had defeated Steingrim there would be time enough to vanquish Lara.

      Having clarified his thoughts he eventually left the promontory and, since a return to the hall was out of the question, he went to the barn and found a convenient pile of hay. It was dry and comfortable at least, even if it wasn’t where he’d envisaged spending his wedding night.

      * * *

      Lara had fallen into an uneasy sleep and woke at dawn. For a few seconds she was disorientated, trying to think where she was. Then, slowly, memory flowed back. Along with it came resentment. She was married now and to a man who cared nothing for her save as a means to an end.