But at last, he answered, ‘I have seen King Feann before.’
‘How?’
This time, he reached over and touched her lips. ‘Sleep. Unless you want me to bind your mouth closed.’
She grew quiet at that, but he realised that Breanne Ó Callahan was not a woman who would obey meekly. Nor would she submit to his commands. Were she not the daughter of his enemy, he might have admired her spirit.
As it was, he intended to heed his brother Rurik’s advice to not grow attached to this woman. Breanne was beautiful, and there was no doubt that his body craved hers. But she was a means to an end, and he had to somehow force her to lower her barriers and give him the information he sought. He needed to know everything about the fortress—the number of guards, the weapons, every door and every threat. And the only way he could gain such information was by winning her trust.
Yet Alarr had to maintain his distance, as well. He could not let temptation interfere with his plans. He was prepared to risk his life for revenge, and he did not expect to survive the battle, given his physical weakness. But at least he could claim Feann’s life even as he surrendered his own.
Beside him, he could feel her attempting to loosen the length of silk, to free herself. In silent answer, he drew the silk tighter around his arm and gripped her body close. She would never escape him—not while she held the answers he sought.
‘I don’t like you,’ she informed him.
‘I don’t like you either,’ he lied. ‘But you are worth a great deal of silver. And in the end, both of us will get what we want.’
‘My foster father will have you killed,’ she said. ‘If you believe he will pay a ransom for me, you are mistaken.’
‘Because he does not want you back?’
‘Because he has a strong army, and they will cut you down and take me back.’
Alarr tightened his grip around her and began fishing for information. ‘Feann is a petty king. He has no more than a dozen men.’
‘You are wrong,’ she countered. ‘He has at least fifty men. Perhaps more.’
It was likely an exaggeration, but he didn’t doubt that the Irish king had fifty men who were loyal to him, even if they weren’t soldiers. Yet, Breanne had revealed possible numbers, which was useful. He knew if he simply rode into Killcobar, they would slaughter him where he stood. He needed his own warriors to cause a distraction, men who would fight while he avenged Sigurd’s death. His brother Rurik would join him, but it would be more difficult to get others to endanger their lives. He could ask Styr for men, but the jarl would not grant fighters unless Alarr gave something in return. He would have to think upon it.
After some time, Breanne stopped fighting him. She softened as she slipped into sleep, and her body relaxed against his. It was strange to hold a sleeping woman in his arms, but the sensation was not unwelcome. The scent of her hair and skin sent a bolt of arousal through him. He could imagine leaning down to kiss her throat, cupping her breasts and stroking them until she gasped from her own desire. The image made him grow hard, and he gritted his teeth.
Breanne snuggled against him in her sleep, and the motion deepened his discomfort. He wanted her badly, and now, he was starting to understand that returning her untouched might be more difficult than he’d imagined. It was not only her beauty that attracted him—it was her fiery spirit of rebellion.
Now was not the time to seduce this woman, for he had to remain fixed upon his goal. Breanne was a distraction, and there was no honour in pursuing her when it could come to naught. It took every ounce of control he had, but he refused to touch her. Instead, he closed his eyes, knowing that sleep would be an impossible feat.
It was early evening when Breanne awakened, after Alarr touched her shoulder. She rose from the pallet, her wrist still tied to his.
‘We will eat now,’ he said and led her from the sleeping space. She was starving, so she made no protest when he led her to another longhouse where men and women were gathering. Already she could smell the roasted meat and fish, and the yeasty scent of bread nearly brought tears to her eyes. Although Alarr had given her travelling food, it had been nearly a fortnight since she’d had a proper meal.
Alarr opened the door and guided her inside. Long trestle tables were set up with benches, and the people gathered together as one tribe to eat. Children sat upon their mother’s laps, while others teased one another as they fought over better seats. She was overwhelmed by the number of people, but Styr and his wife Caragh welcomed them and guided them to their places near the dais.
It made her self-conscious being bound to Alarr. Though she understood that she was his prisoner, it made her uneasy for everyone to see it. He led her to sit down and then regarded her. ‘If I remove your bindings, will you vow to stay and eat?’
Her heart pounded at the thought of precious freedom. A part of her longed to seize the moment, to flee and hope that she could escape. But the logical part of her brain warned that this was a chance to earn his trust. She could not simply run; she had to make her plans carefully.
‘I swear it.’ She looked him in the eyes as she made the promise.
He stared as if he didn’t quite believe her, yet there were so many people inside, it would be nearly impossible to go. Finally, he gave a nod and untied the silk binding, unwrapping it. ‘You
