Chapter Two

"A re you in your cups again, Husband?" A woman appeared from seemingly nowhere at his side and tugged at his arm.

For the first time in a long time, Viggo "Red" Algarssen was rendered speechless. He looked down into a pair of startling silver-gray eyes ringed in black, and wide with what he assumed was fear. She had that look he recognized. Unbidden, his heart clenched at the intense way the woman stared up at him, unblinking and earnest, as though pleading with him not to reject her. She'd placed her hand familiarly on his chest, and she seemed to be trying to turn him back in the direction from which he came.

He'd come to Oswestry looking for vengeance, not a wife, but he'd play along. It was laughable, really. She was tiny, puny even, and completely intriguing. "It is you who intoxicates me, Wife ," he said with a loud lusty growl, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, draping the end of his fur cloak over her. He tucked her into his side and started down the lane. If she was seeking an escape, he'd give her one.

He'd seen the man come bursting out of the inn behind her and noticed the way her body had stiffened. Frustratingly, the man's face was obscured by his hood and Red wasn't able to get a good look at him as he turned his head from side to side, obviously looking for someone.

The woman turned to look over his protective arm as they walked, presumably searching for the hooded man.

"Do not look his way," Red ordered in a low voice as he feigned stumbling down the lane a few more steps, keeping up the pretense of being drunk. When they got to the end of the lane, he leaned his back against an open wall and splayed his legs wide enough to pull the woman between them and into his chest. He wrapped his cloak tighter around her to hide her as he warily watched the man stalking down the street in their direction.

The woman tried to peek her head out to see what was happening just as the hooded stranger slowed his steps and turned his attention to them. Red didn't know what the man in the street was to the woman in his arms, but he could feel the tension in her body as she stood straight as a spear against him. He concluded they were not well-acquainted, or she would not be trying to hide from the man in plain sight.

He was doing his best to hide her face from the man's view with his bulk and cloak, but short of stuffing her head down into the fur he'd wrapped around them both, he could think of only one other way to shield her from vision without arousing suspicion.

"Kiss me, Wife," he said with a drunken laugh as he leaned his face down close to hers, covering her cheek with his hand and tucking her into his shoulder as he pressed his lips to hers. Kissing an unwilling woman did not hold any appeal for Red, but it was the most effective way to shield her identity from the man. He couldn't stop the twinge of guilt that stabbed at his stomach as his mouth touched hers, even as he told himself that it was the lady in his arms who started this preposterous situation by calling him "Husband".

The woman hesitated for a breath, then played along with more enthusiasm than Red anticipated, clutching his shirt in her fists as she pressed her lips against his. He tried to ignore the jolt to his body that made his heart beat faster as he kissed the woman while at the same time watching the man on the street through slitted eyelids.

" Oi ," the man called out rudely.

Irritation shot through Red's veins at the man's audacity. The woman in his arms went rigid with fear and clenched tighter to his tunic. He could feel her trembling and the rapid beat of her heart against his stomach. He lifted his head to look at the man but kept the woman's cheek pressed to his chest. "What do you want?" he growled.

"Did you see a woman come out of the tavern?" The man's voice was gravelly and rough like he was purposely lowering it to make it unrecognizable. Red noticed he also deliberately hid his face under a heavy hood pulled low.

"I have eyes only for my wife," Red said with a drunken slur. "We're celebrating my return and I'd like to get back to it. Go away."

The man's hooded head stayed turned in their direction as Red dipped his head to nuzzle the top of the woman's head. He studied the cloaked figure to remember him for later; he would track him down and teach him a lesson in courtesy. The man was doomed, as far as he was concerned: first, for daring to hesitate after Red told him to move on; second, for causing the woman in his arms to be terrified. And third, for interrupting a passionate moment between a man and his wife, even though they were neither. In Red's opinion, this was the most egregious thing of all.

Finally, the man moved away, stomping back up the lane in frustration as he turned his head side to side, looking for anyone hiding in the doorways or behind corners.

Red was yet to know who the hooded man was to this woman, or why she was trying to escape him, but he would find out.

He held the woman close to him under his cloak, shielded from view, as he kept a watchful eye on the lane until he was sure the man was gone. He'd held other women in his arms before, but for some reason that he couldn't fathom, he was reluctant to let this one go. He kept rubbing his chin over the top of her head while he watched the man walk away. Her hair was particularly silky and soft to the touch, much like her lips. Perhaps it was the danger of the situation and his need to be a protector, but the woman in his arms was completely intoxicating, like a siren's call.

No, not a siren's call. More like the pull of a she-wolf on her mate. Red knew that when an alpha wolf found her, only death could part him from his she-wolf. He believed the same held true for men and women if they were willing to believe in Fate.

His mother told him often as a small boy the tale of how she'd known the moment she saw his father that no other man would ever have a place in her heart. It had been like a lightning bolt the first time they had locked gazes. He chuckled, remembering how she'd said it took his father a little longer to admit they were fated to be together, but they'd been inseparable once he'd quit fighting it. It had broken her heart when he'd been killed in battle before either of them even knew she carried his child, and she'd never loved again.

Small hands pushed against his chest and the woman slowly tipped her head back to look up at him. Those eyes! They were the most beautiful he'd ever seen, especially now that the fear had drained from them. Her lips parted as though she planned to say something, but then she paused, and an expression of bewilderment crossed her delicate features. Red smiled at her then, a slow, knowing grin. Did she feel it, too? Had she recognized him as the match to her soul?

"Let me go," she said evenly, as a sweet smile crossed her lips.

She had the slow, languidly sensual moves of a she-wolf. He stared at her, mesmerized.

"I said: Let…me…go ." Her tone was fiercely determined as she spoke through clenched teeth. Beautiful, white, perfect pearls of teeth.

Red couldn't stop looking at her, wanting to touch every curve of her face. He opened his mouth to ask her name, taking his time to release her, when her sudden movement and an explosion of blinding pain made him flinch and bend toward the ground as the breath whooshed out from between his lips.

His breathtaking she-wolf had kneed him in the balls!

*

Galiena hastily stepped out of the protection of his fur cloak, feeling a twinge of guilt when the massive, red-headed oaf pursed his lips as his eyes bulged. One hand moved to his tender private parts—she supposed to protect them in case she decided to knee him again—while the other clutched at his chest as he gasped for air.

She hadn't meant to knee him in the groin as aggressively as she had, but it would make him think twice before ignoring her demands again. In truth, a portion of her defensive vigor came from the unexpected urge to lean into him as he kissed her. He was big, warm, and smelled like a fresh autumn morning, and she'd felt safe and not so alone for the first time in a very long time when he wrapped her in his arms.

It also felt wrong.

Wrong because she didn't know this man. Wrong because she'd not been wrapped in anyone's arms since her husband died. Wrong because she had thought her body beyond responding to the touch of a man who wasn't Adam.

The frigid air enveloped her now that she didn't have the luxury of his fur around her, and she hugged her arms around her middle to stay warm. She looked up the street where the man who had been looking for her had disappeared, then turned to go in the opposite direction. She wasn't safe in the streets. And even once she rid herself of her current nuisance in the form of a tall, red-haired, bearded Viking, she knew she was still in danger.

"Whoa!" the oaf called, putting his hand on her shoulder. She stopped and looked down at the place where he was touching her, then glared over her shoulder at him. He lifted his hand and held it aloft in a gesture of surrender.

"I am not your horse." Nothing irked her more than men putting their hands on her uninvited, but she'd learned well how to deal with unwanted attention from working at the inn. Though to be fair, she had been the one to approach the Viking first, even to put her hands on him in a familiar way. Her tone had been unnecessarily rude after he had helped her hide from the hooded man, but she felt peevish and unsettled. In the years since her world fell apart, she'd isolated herself from others, and she'd developed an instinct to inwardly cringe and outwardly steel herself when men tried to get impudent with her.

She'd kept her distance from men since her husband died lest they misinterpret her intentions. She rarely had to interact with the crowd at the tavern or the guests staying at the inn, and she usually kept to herself, cleaning or helping in the kitchen. As gruff as the innkeeper was, he did seem to have some mercy, rarely sending her into the tavern to serve food or assist with pouring tankards of ale. The few times she helped in the tavern, the moment the male patrons started making her uncomfortable with their propositions or putting their hands on her, he would send her to the kitchen and out of view of the offender. It was an unexpected kindness, but one she welcomed.

But when this giant of a man had wrapped her in his cloak and held her against him, he'd made her feel things she thought buried too deeply to ever experience again. His warmth and strength brought back memories and feelings from a time when her life made sense. A time she fought every day to keep buried lest the memories bring her to her knees.

She increased her speed when she heard him following her but to no avail. In a few long strides, he was in front of her, turning to walk backward so he could face her. She hid a satisfied smile to see the stiff gait that she suspected had more to do with his encounter with her knee than with the awkwardness of his backward shuffle.

"Accept my forgiveness, my lady," he said, attempting a grin that looked more like a crooked grimace. She wanted to be put off by the mischievous charm, but something about the way his lips quirked, and his light-blue eyes glittered gave her an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't fear, dread, or wariness—those she knew well. She didn't know what this was.

"I am not a lady," she said, averting her gaze as she tried to skirt around him.

She couldn't go back to the inn—the man would be looking for her there. Out of habit, her footsteps started in the direction of her cottage, but the thought quickly crossed her mind that if the man inquired about her at the tavern, he would know her name and where she lived before sunset.

The only other place she knew to go was the goldsmith's, but the thought of bringing danger to her only friend, Anora, and her kind father, Frode, made her stomach twist.

Galiena's fingers touched the pouches hanging beneath her tunic. One contained all the coins she dared to carry on her, and the other contained a bit of gold and a small roll of parchment that could mean her death.

Unless she managed to evade the man until he quit looking for her.

Perhaps he'd given up when he continued down the street. She wasn't sure if he even got a clear look at her in the fading light of day in the dim alley. If he had, then he wouldn't have been fooled by her wrapped in the arms of a stranger when he stopped to talk to them. He either didn't recognize her and wasn't exactly sure for whom he was looking, or he knew it was her and would be back.

"Can I at least know your name?" the charming nuisance asked, still facing her as he walked backward.

Galiena pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I do not expect to require your services again, so there is no need for you to know my name."

"‘Sweeting' it is then," he said, turning to walk at her side. Though his attention was back to scouring the lane for danger, he did flash her a lopsided grin. "Isn't that what husbands call their wives?"

"I am not your wife." She should have been annoyed by his brashness, but she found him quite disarming with his awkward smile, one corner of his mouth curving higher than the other and forming a dimple in his left cheek.

Galiena stopped abruptly. She didn't want to notice anything about him. It would lead to no good. She suspected he knew well how handsome he was, with his charming grin and pale blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. He kept his beard trimmed close, but his hair was a wild mane of deep red.

She reminded herself that she should be more concerned about the stolen pouch hidden under her tunic and the ominous hooded man who wanted it back than the handsome stranger who made her stomach uncomfortably jittery.

She put her head down and continued walking, determined to get away from the charming Viking, but he continued to match her stride easily with his long legs. She pursed her lips in frustration and was about to tell him to leave her alone when he suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her into a narrow lane between the apothecary and the baker's shop. A yelp of protest started to escape her lips but was cut off by his huge hand covering her mouth and most of her face. She wriggled to break free as he pressed her into the wall of the bakery, but he would not release her.

"Shhh," the Viking said in a hushed voice. He kept his fingers pressed to her lips, but he was peering around the edge of the stone wall into the main lane. He pulled back into the shadows of the narrow lane and looked down at her, one eyebrow arched disapprovingly. "Your pursuer is persistent."

She could feel the pulse pounding in her head as fear came over her again. She pressed her hand against the folds of her tunic, reassuring herself both pouches were still secreted there. She knew not what was written in the missive, but the sinister details she'd overheard, and the fact that the man seemed relentless in finding her indicated it was important. The gravity of the situation was making her heart drum in her chest, and she feared the hooded man wouldn't be satisfied until he found her and retrieved the letter and the gold.

But what would he do to her once he had the letter? If he caught her, could she feign ignorance, pretend she hadn't overhead anything? Would he believe her and just let her go? She would bet what little silver she possessed he would rather wring her neck and search her lifeless body for the missive than ask questions.

Her gaze darted to the side and she looked down the passageway, measuring the distance and speculating whether she could reach the other end before the hooded man found her. She could disappear quicker if alone. She looked at the giant of a man pinning her to the wall, his fingers lightly pressing against her lips, and pleaded with her eyes that he release her while at the same time, she tried to slide out from under his grip.

Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along the narrow lane. He was surprisingly quiet for his size, his boots making hardly a sound as they hurried to the other end and rounded the corner. He looked over his shoulder ensuring they were not being followed as they emerged into the main lane of the village. Then he looked left and right, as though trying to determine which way to go, obviously not overly familiar with the lanes through which they moved.

Galiena felt a spike of hope as she noted that bit of information. Distracted, he didn't appear to be holding tightly to her hand. The foolish giant thought she was a complacent woman. She took advantage of his inattention and pulled her hand free, then took off running toward the lower part of the lane, away from the center of town. Darting into another small corridor that was barely visible just beyond the butcher shop, she felt a twinge of satisfaction, certain the wide-shouldered Viking wouldn't fit in the narrow passageway. After all, even with her petite frame, she had to run with her shoulders angled. A man of any size, like the Viking or the hooded man, would have to struggle to get his body to fit through the cramped space.

She reached the far end of the corridor and turned onto another lane leading toward the edge of the village where the smithies were located. Looking over her shoulder as she went, she was shocked to see the huge redhead was only a few strides behind her.

Saints above! How had he stayed so close behind her without her hearing his footsteps? How did he fit through the alley? Had he gone around the building? And if so—how did he catch her so quickly?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to a safe place, away from the hooded man and now—perhaps—the Viking, and the only way to do that was by being fleet and canny. She knew the village; he didn't. With that in mind, she continued to dart through the lanes until she rounded the back side of the goldsmith's shop. She stopped when she was out of sight of the lanes but was immediately dismayed to see the Viking round the corner and enter the alley right behind her.

"Would you, please, just go away!" she hissed at him. "You are far too conspicuous with your…your…." Her hands were whirling in circles in front of her indicating his size, his huge fur cloak, his flaming red hair, and all the rest of him.

"My what?" he asked, looking down at her. His insouciance, she decided. That was too conspicuous too.

There was nothing to be done for it, she decided, so she ignored him, as she rapped on a wooden door. A moment later she heard the snick of a panel being slid to the side and a small opening in the door appeared at eye level. A heartbeat later, she heard the scrape of a heavy bolt followed by the scrape of the door being thrown open against a stone floor. Glancing to the end of the alley to be sure it was still clear, Galiena stepped into the warmth of the goldsmith's backroom.

She groaned in frustration when the door did not budge as she tried to close it behind her, knowing full well the oaf had followed her into the shop. Her one and only friend, Anora, stood with her mouth agape, staring up at him wide-eyed.

Galiena spun to face him. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to answer my question," he said with a smug grin over his shoulder as he pressed the door closed and slid the bolt back in place. The man was daft.

"What question?"

He turned back to her and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm far too conspicuous with my what ?"

" That's what you want to know right now?" Galiena asked, her voice rising. "With all that has happened, that is your concern?"

He shrugged, the left side of his mouth curving up in that distracting lopsided grin. "I would have been happy just knowing your name, but you wouldn't answer. So…"

"All of you," she huffed, tearing her focus from his handsome face with its sharp jawline framed by that neatly trimmed beard to look at something less unsettling, like his chest. Except now he had his arms folded across that broad expanse. It made her think of how it had been to be pressed against that chest, by those arms.

There was a fine dusting of red hair gracing the contours of his forearms, highlighting their muscles and tendons as if on purpose. Exasperated with herself for noticing, she folded her hands demurely in front of her in an attempt to regain her composure and said in the sweetest voice she could muster, "Thank you for your assistance, kind sir. As you can see, I am now safely deposited out of sight, and you may be on your way."

She wanted to look at the parchment secreted away in the pouch. She couldn't go back to the inn or her little cottage, which left only the goldsmith's shop belonging to her friend Anora and her dear father. But she was regretting her choice now, fearful that she would bring danger to the only people who were kind to her. At the same time, what choice did she have?

"Not yet, sweeting. Who is the man in the hood?" he asked, stepping closer to her so that she had to tip her head back to look at him.

"Someone only a little less annoying than you."