Mercia
counted herself among the luckiest of women to be seated at the high table.
Although she’d grown up with Lady Rachelle in England, she’d worked as a maid
in her uncle’s household. To be included as a family member now, was something
she’d never expected. Since her escape from the war-torn country, she’d found
happiness in Norway. Instead of working as a servant, she served as Rachelle’s
companion, which meant nothing more than wearing pretty gowns and helping
manage her household.
She reached
for a piece of bread, her gaze travelling across the guests below. She gasped
when she spied Lady Kara’s friend, Captain Marteinn, standing nearby. Chestnut
curls framed his magnificent features, and his high cheekbones and slightly
slanted eyes gave him the look of an exotic heathen deity. The rare combination
set him apart from the other men. And his broad shoulders and narrow waist
didn’t escape her attention.
“Is
everything all right?” Rachelle leaned close. “Are you ill?”
“No-no.”
“Your hands
are trembling.” Rachelle felt Mercia’s forehead. “No fever ...” Then she
followed her gaze. “Oh, the despondent stallion all the women whisper about.”
Ridiculous. It
was mere coincidence the captain came into her line of vision when he did. “I
don’t know what you’re prattling on about.”
Rachelle
laughed. “Flushed and trembling—all symptoms of a very familiar sickness I
suffered from several years ago when I met my husband. He’s very handsome,
Mercia. But don’t subject yourself to a man who already loves another woman.”
She was
still staring at him. “What woman?” Perhaps she already knew the answer. When
she’d joined Kara earlier in the day, she’d overheard part of the conversation
her friend was having with the captain.
I no longer entrust anyone with
my secrets or my heart.
“Kara Dalgaard.”
Unable to stop staring, she
winced when their gazes finally met. His eyes flashed with interest, but she
immediately turned to face Rachelle. “Is he headed this way?”
“I thought the captain didn’t
pique your interest. You’re a bad liar, Mercia.”
“Tell me, please.”
“Indeed, he is.”
Her heart pounded. They’d never
been formally introduced. Why couldn’t she control herself? A few stolen
glances shouldn’t make her shake as if she’d never met a handsome man before.
“Lady Rachelle.” Marteinn bowed.
“Captain Marteinn. Always a
pleasure to see you. I enjoyed the death match today.”
Mercia sucked in a breath. The Saami hadn’t died, although it
had been a brutal fight.
His wonderfully shaped lips
twitched. “May I ask after the lady?”
“My dearest friend, Mercia.”
Again, the captain bowed
elegantly. “We met briefly outside today.”
“I don’t believe we had the
opportunity to actually speak, Captain Marteinn.”
“Forgive me.”
Was that a hint of a smile in his
eyes?
“Did you watch the wrestling
match?” he asked.
Do your duty, be polite. Spare
Rachelle any embarrassment. “I’m afraid that I didn’t.”
He raked his fingers through his
hair, visibly disappointed.
“She’s not accustomed to the
games,” Rachelle explained. “Whenever we sponsor similar activities at home, Mercia always finds an excuse to run
off.”
She slumped in her chair. Her
friend was trying to help, but the effort only served to make her look foolish.
It wasn’t for lack of interest—she enjoyed seeing men compete. But something
stirred inside her whenever they stripped down to their braes. That’s what made
her avoid the games, her response to half naked men.
“A timid creature,” he observed
none too kindly. “Some women aren’t meant for vigorous activities.”
Mercia cleared her throat, leaning
forward. “Let me assure you, Captain, I am not timid, just easily bored.”
Their eyes met again and held for
what felt like eternity. Heat flooded her belly as she took in the intensity of
his stare. “I’ll remember that,” he said, then walked away.
“Another arrogant Viking.” Mercia watched him disappear into the
crowd. “No wonder I can’t find a companion—these men are hardly distinguishable
from the beasts they keep.”
“You fell prey to his trick.”
She shook her head, then turned
back to her friend. “What do you mean?”
Rachelle patted her hand,
chuckling softly. “He tested your wit. And from the way he reacted, I think you
exceeded his expectations.”
