Chapter 1

EAST ANGLIA, AUTUMN 1041

CHAPTER ONE

"Toland is dead."

The words were spoken without emotion. Dunne didn't see why she should pretend to be devastated, or even saddened by the death of her husband. Her sister knew the man had not been of her choosing, but rather imposed on her by their father. Life with him had not been easy to say the least. At the start of their marriage, she had even hated him. But after the birth of their only daughter they had started to drift apart, which, as far as she was concerned, had been a blessing. The less time they spent together, the better. Now when she thought about him, which was not often for a newly-widowed woman, she felt nothing but indifference.

Frigyth stared at her. Clearly the news was more of a shock to her. "What happened?"

Dunne shrugged. "He went to town one night, no doubt to meet one of his many conquests, and he never came back."

That had been one of the reasons their marriage had become more bearable over the years. He'd started to go find his pleasure elsewhere. Far from being offended by this disregard for her sensibilities, Dunne had been relieved. Now someone else had to deal with Toland. Enduring his rough handling in bed had been bad enough, but she'd also had to bear his insults.

"Jesus, but you've grown fat since our wedding day. What man in his right mind would want a woman like you? Can't you move when I bed you? Or at least moan? What have I done to deserve a woman who doesn't know what to do with her hands? Or mouth?" The list of recriminations had been endless, each more hurtful than the last.

It seemed in the last year he had found more accommodating women, women who moved under him, who moaned, who used their hands and mouths the way he wanted. Good for him. Except that his dissolute way of life had ultimately proven to be the death of him.

Well, it just went to show that sometimes you did reap what you sowed.

"On the way back home one night he lost his way in the darkness and broke his leg in a hole he didn't see," she told Frigyth dispassionately. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was drunk as well. That night, it was unusually cold. Unable to walk, he was forced to lie on the frozen ground without a cloak. A farmer and his son found him in the morning. Dead."

Her sister didn't pass any comment or offer her condolences. Frigyth was no hypocrite and she probably didn't feel sorry for the man's death either. The few times they had met, the tension between them had been palpable. Dunne had often wondered if her husband had not tried to press his advances on her sister. She knew he had lusted after her, and that would have accounted for her coldness toward him, as well as the way her husband, Sigurd, never left her side for even a moment whenever they visited. The Norseman always hovered in the background, as if ready to intervene and stop Toland from bothering her. Not that it signified much. Sigurd was utterly besotted with his wife and every inch the jealous protector. He might well have acted in the same way even if no lecher had been lusting after Frigyth.

It was better not to dwell on this overmuch anyway. Toland was dead, and he could not hurt her anymore. It was all that mattered.

After a few days on her own, wondering what to do, Dunne had decided to leave a house which was only associated with bad memories and find a new place to live. Her first port of call had been her sister. Frigyth was now happily married and lived in a village of Norsemen not too far from the town where they had grown up. After a few weeks spent here to adjust to her new freedom, Dunne would try and make a new life for herself and her three-year-old daughter.

She looked around, frowning. Where was Dawn, by the way? She had been here just a moment ago, playing with her puppets. Panic flared inside her. "Where has Dawn gone?"

Frigyth placed a soothing hand over her arm. "Fret not. The village is not so big. Most likely she saw a dog or a squirrel and followed it."

"Yes." Unfortunately Dunne knew all about her daughter's love for animals. But if she had followed a stray mutt, or a wild animal, it meant she could be anywhere, even in the woods. Damn it, she had only lost sight of her for a moment! Dunne started to run. "I have to find her, she is too?—"

It was then that she heard the cry.

Ouch!

Her daughter's voice, unmistakable.

"In the hayloft," she cried, veering in the direction of the tall wooden structure, Frigyth close on her heels. In the hayloft she found her daughter. Dunne saw everything in quick succession. First the blood, then the way Dawn was holding her injured hand. Finally, the man who was standing next to her, tall and menacing. He was so imposing she should perhaps have seen him first, but she had been too focused on Dawn, too shocked by the blood on her hand. Why was her daughter bleeding?

Not stopping to think, she fell on the man. "What did you do to her, you animal!"

Her fists met muscles that were as hard as steel. It didn't take her long to realize she would not inflict much damage, but, as the man was not even trying to stop her, she carried on hitting him anyway. It was oddly satisfying. She had been too worried at finding her daughter missing, then too irate at the notion of anyone hurting her, to be in full control of her emotions. She needed to let the fear, the relief and the anger out, and attempting to beat a tall Norseman to a pulp was a surprisingly efficient way of accomplishing it.

"Mama, how did you know he has an animal name?"

The unexpected question, as well as the awe in Dawn's voice stopped Dunne in her tracks. Her daughter did not sound distressed in the least. Perhaps the man had not hurt her after all.

She turned to face the little girl. "I-I beg your pardon?"

"He's called Bear. I told you it was possible to have an animal name! Now will you call me Bee?"

What was this? Dunne had thought she was defending her daughter against a vicious attacker, and she was being told that they were friends. In view of this information, she had no choice but to let go of the man. Not that, as predicted, she had inflicted much damage. He appeared more amused than hurt by her outburst.

Frigyth came forward with a smile on her face. "This is Rorik's son. He lives here in the village. Don't worry, he's not going to hurt anyone, much less an innocent little girl."

"Of course, I'm not! What do you take me for, preying on children!" The Norseman, who was much younger than she had first supposed, looked so offended that Dunne instantly knew he had not been the one to hurt her daughter.

"What happened then?" she asked, taking in a deep, calming breath. "Why are you bleeding, Dawn?"

"Bee!" the little girl protested. Dunne threw her a glance that made it clear she had better answer without delay. After having been made a fool in front of a stranger, her patience was running thin. "I wanted to pet one of the kittens, but the mama cat scratched me."

"I told you Barley might do that." The man's voice was deep and beguiling, stroking over Dunne's frayed nerves. She looked at him again. Perhaps he was not as young as she had thought. He exuded a calm confidence she did not associate with youth. "Mothers are very protective of their young."

This last comment was aimed at her, without a shadow of a doubt. She had pounced on him, baring her claws like this mama cat called Barley had. Well, what else was she supposed to do? She'd thought her daughter was in danger, of course she would want to defend her, even when it was clear she had no chance of winning the fight.

"I'm sorry, but we have to leave. We've had a long day."

She felt out of sorts, without quite knowing why. Perhaps it was the relief of seeing that her daughter was not injured after all, perhaps it was the odd draw she felt toward the man. Up until today Dunne had thought her brother-in-law the most attractive man she had ever set eyes upon, and one of a kind. Now she could see that Sigurd was not unique, but simply a Norseman, which was to say as different from Saxon men as night was from day. From what she had seen, the men in the village all boasted impressive physiques and harmonious features, and none more so than "Bear."

Was that really his name or just another of Dawn's fanciful musings? They had seen the massive animal just once, a year ago, when a bear baiter had paraded it in town in front of awed onlookers. The blond man staring at her was just as massive as the animal and just as beguiling.

She shook her head. Why was she gawping at a stranger, compelling though he might be? She had better things to do, like finding a place to stay for the next few nights. Frigyth had told her a man called Wolf would help her. She had better go find him before nightfall instead of fawning over someone she might never see again.

"Dawn, say goodbye to your new friend," she said, lifting her daughter into her arms.

"Goodbye, Bear."

A chuckle answered her. "Goodbye, Bee. I hope to see more of you in the next few days."

"The cask of ale is empty," Sigurd said, looking into the cup in his hand. "If you wait a moment, I'll go and see Bj?rn. He might have another one ready."

Dunne's ears pricked up at the name.

Bj?rn. In other words, "Bear." Frigyth's husband had told her yesterday evening that the man Dawn had met in the hayloft was one of the most well-liked young men in the village. He lived with his sister Ingrid. At the death of their parents a few months back, he had taken over the making of the ale and had started to supply a few lucky friends with his production. Such a task was usually reserved to women, but Bj?rn had apparently helped his mother as a child and developed a talent for it.

"No one makes ale quite like him," Sigurd had added, throwing an apologetic glance toward his wife. "Sorry, Birdie, you are the most talented cook I know, but?—"

"No need to apologize." Frigyth had laughed. "The ale I make is palatable at best, it is agreed. We are much better off drinking what Bj?rn makes." As usual, the discussion had been concluded by a kiss. As far as Dunne could tell, her sister and her husband were incapable of arguing.

Sigurd walked over to the door. "Let me go get a fresh cask before we eat."

Dunne was on her feet before anyone had time to blink. "Let me go."

Both Frigyth and Sigurd arched a brow at the statement.

"Are you sure?" her sister asked.

"Certain. I owe him an apology for the way I behaved yesterday," Dunne explained hurriedly, not sure why this was so important to her. After all, he had seemed to understand her impulse to defend her daughter. "This will be my chance."

"Very well. His hut is the one by the hayloft."

As she made her way to Bj?rn's hut, Dunne could not account for the way her heart was fluttering in her chest. She was merely going to apologize to him, nothing more. There was no cause for such silliness.

She found him outside, stirring the contents of a large boiling vat with a wooden paddle. Up until that moment, Dunne would not have cited ale-making as a licentious activity, but she was forced to reassess her opinion there and then.

Because Bj?rn was bare-chested, and the sight was the most arousing thing she had ever seen.

As he moved the paddle back and forth through the thick grain mash, the muscles on his back twisted and pulled, betraying immense strength. There wasn't an ounce of fat on his body; everything was taut, golden, and smooth. The man was sculpted perfection, from the expanse of his broad shoulders to his trim waist and impossibly tight buttocks. Dunne started when the thought crossed her mind. Never before had she noticed how tight or flabby men's buttocks were.

Then again, she had never seen Bj?rn half-naked before.

It was impossible not to notice how perfect he was. She couldn't tear her eyes from the sight. He raised a hand to wipe his brow with the back of his hand and everything within her coiled at the way his bicep contracted and bunched. Why? There was nothing extraordinary in it. And since when had her skin grown too tight for her body? She had no idea. All she knew was that she had been struck dumb.

She must have made a sound because he spoke, his attention still on the vat.

"Ah. Just put everything on the table, thanks."

"I-I'm sorry. I don't have anything for you."

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. Something flashed in his blue eyes. Amusement? Annoyance? She couldn't tell. Unsure how to behave, Dunne waited.

Eventually Bj?rn smiled and hung his paddle on a hook in front of him. "Forgive me. I thought you were Ingrid, my sister, bringing me some food."

"No. Sorry. I came to…Well, Sigurd sent me here to say he would like a cask of ale, if you have one ready" she finished lamely. This was not why she was here, not really, but suddenly she had gone all shy. In her defense, she had not expected to find him in such a state of undress. How was she supposed to think straight in front of a half-naked man?

"Of course, I can have one readied for him." Bj?rn turned fully to her, eyes ablaze. "But I don't think that's why you came."

"N-no?"

Dunne couldn't think with his chest on full display. The back had been splendid, the front was spectacular. Short blond hairs shone on his pectorals like gold dust sprinkled on stone, ridges lined his taut abdomen, forcing the eye to follow the line disappearing under the waist of his braies. Dunne had to bunch her fists to stop herself from reaching out to him. Never before had she had the urge to pet a man.

But a golden bear? Apparently she did.

"Why else would I have come?" she whispered when she finally tore herself from the contemplation.

He walked over to her and leaned in, stopping close enough for her to smell something both earthy and floral she assumed came from the grain he had been stirring. Did all the women who took care of the making of the ale smell like this? She had never noticed before. Either way, it was as potent as the drink he was mixing.

"I think you're sorry for hitting me yesterday and you came to apologize," he said in a low purr. "As well you might. Look at what you did."

He hunched a shoulder to show her a series of small bruises at the back of his bicep she had noticed before without thinking of attributing them to her clumsy attack on him.

"I did that?" She was aghast. Never had she imagined she would actually hurt such a strapping man.

"Yes. Surprising what protective mothers will do, as I told your daughter before you arrived. You lashed out at me for hurting your child the same way my cat lashed at Bee for touching her kitten. Imagine what you would have done if you'd had claws as well. I might well have been shred to ribbons."

"But you didn't hurt her," Dunne whispered, disconcerted by the admiration in his voice. He sounded as if he were impressed by her courage when she was sure he should be outraged. Any other man she knew, save perhaps Sigurd, would have made her feel his ire.

"Of course, I would never have hurt her, but you didn't know that at the time. I was just a strange man alone with your daughter and she was bleeding."

She nodded. Seen like that it did make sense. Still, she knew he was being more reasonable than most. "In any case, I apologize for hitting you and I thank you for not hitting me back."

He recoiled, all traces of amusement gone from his face. "You think I would do such a thing? Hit a woman?"

"Well, I was attacking you. It would have been only fair if you'd defended yourself."

"By grabbing your wrists, perhaps, and preventing you from hitting me, not by hitting you back!"

He looked so shocked by the idea she could not help a smile. "No. I see that you would never do such a thing."

The mere idea of hurting Dunne sent a chill down Bj?rn's spine. He would never hit a woman, no matter what she did to him, and if he ever touched her, the woman he had been dreaming about for years, it would not be to inflict pain. If she allowed him to, he would cradle her heart-shaped face while he kissed her full on the mouth, then he would run his hands along her flanks, cup her buttocks and draw her to him before tumbling her down onto his pallet and making love to her.

He could not believe she was really here in front of him. It was as if after so long fantasizing about this moment, he had made her appear with the power of his longing.

And she was just as compelling as he remembered. The amazing eyes the color of liquid honey and the mass of chestnut hair she wore loose over her shoulders had not changed. She looked different than she had at her sister's wedding, though. It was hard to pinpoint what it was exactly, but she seemed to have lost the hounded expression she'd worn then, as if she didn't feel…trapped anymore.

Yes, that's what it was. She looked free.

He let out a groan of dismay. The attraction she exerted over him had not diminished in the least. On the contrary, it seemed to have grown. In the same way he had grown into a man since Frigyth and Sigurd's wedding, she had become much more than an unattainable figure of desire he'd only been allowed to glimpse from a distance. She was all too real, had become part of his life. They were talking, she had come to his hut, she had even touched him. Granted, it had been to pummel him, but still, she had left her mark on his skin. His soul, of course, had been struck a long time ago.

Hope fluttered in his chest. He had not dared hope she would come to see him but here she was, less than a day after their meeting in the hayloft. Could it mean anything?

"How about that cask then?" she whispered, clearly at a loss as to how to carry on the conversation.

"I have one here, ready."

He watched her eye the cask he'd indicated and then bite her bottom lip. His groin instantly tightened. Did she have any idea what that gesture would do to a man? Apparently not. She seemed oddly innocent for a woman who was married and had a child, as if she'd never been courted in her life and did not know the way men's minds worked. Perhaps she did not, perhaps she had married her childhood sweetheart when she was very young and had never had cause to observe men or wonder how best to appeal to them. Perhaps her husband, the lucky sod, had never needed to woo her, because it had always been assumed they would end up getting married. He pushed the disagreeable thought from his mind. The less he imagined her with another man, the better.

"Sigurd can have it," he said, nodding at the cask again. "Ingrid and I have plenty left until the next batch is ready."

"Thanks. It looks rather heavy, though."

That's when he understood why she had looked appalled earlier. She thought she was going to have to carry it back to Sigurd by herself.

"Don't worry about the weight. I'll take it, not you." What did she take him for? First she'd been worried he would hit her, now she thought he would make her handle a full cask of ale on her own? What sort of men was she used to that she could think such things? "Did Sigurd say when he needed it?"

She reddened, as if she were loath to inconvenience him. His groin tightened further. The color suited her, making her eyes sparkle like gems. "As soon as possible, from what I understood."

"Very well. I'll see to it now then."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem."

She took a step back. Only then did he realize they had drifted closer during their conversation. It had been so natural to be next to her that he had not registered the closeness, even though it was not every day he found himself bare-chested in front of a woman who was not his sister.

"Well, I'm happy to have met you, Bj?rn."

"Me too." Finally.

"I'm Dunne, by the way."

"I know." He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not the first time we've met, you know."

She hesitated. "No, but I didn't tell you my name yesterday."

Bj?rn shook his head. That was not what he meant at all. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Dunne blinked, looking caught out. "Should I?"

"No," he said bitterly. Why would she remember a youth she'd met so long ago, who had not exchanged a single word with her? "You have no reason to remember me, but I saw you here at the village three years ago when your sister married Sigurd."

"Oh. And you remember me?"

Remember her? He almost let out a laugh. He had dreamed about her countless times, imagined her face, her body when he gave himself pleasure at night. Up until now he had felt no guilt over it, because he'd never thought to meet her again. She had been as unattainable as the goddesses in his parents' stories, a figure of beauty and fascination, nothing more.

But now she was a woman of flesh and blood standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly, and he did feel guilty. If she knew what he'd done to her in his imagination as he'd discovered the pleasure his body was capable of giving him, she would flee as fast as her legs could carry her…She had filled his every lewd thought for years, been her wildest, favorite fantasy. Her name had been on his lips, her face in his mind every time he'd reached the pinnacle of pleasure. No other woman, real or imaginary, had ever been able to replace her.

"Yes, I do remember you," he said curtly.

He'd been obsessed with her.

But how could he not? She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, gloriously feminine. Unusual. Intriguing. Sensual. The list went on and on. She was also married—and utterly out of bounds. He took another step back, for more safety.

"Is your husband here in the village as well?"

He winced when the question left his lips. He hadn't meant to ask her that. Would she balk and answer that it was none of his business?

She did not, and her answer almost sent him reeling backward.

"No. My husband is dead."