She didn’t know what to say, but it bothered her deeply that Feann had agreed to fight Alarr. ‘I am glad I won’t be there to see it.’
He reached out to cup her face between his hands. ‘No matter what happens to me, I hope you find the life you deserve, Breanne.’ She memorised the lines of his face, the dark hair that fell to his shoulders, and the piercing blue eyes that were watching her. Never had she felt like this before with any man, as if the rest of the world could fall away.
But until he set aside his revenge, there could be no life for them.
‘I wanted a life with you,’ she confessed. ‘I wanted a husband and a home. Perhaps one day a child.’
His face softened, and he stroked back her hair. ‘You will have that one day. I believe it.’
‘But not with you,’ she finished. She closed her eyes, holding back the rising anguish. Though she did not want to think of it, one of the men she loved would be injured on the morrow. One might die. And yet, both were too stubborn to stand down.
Alarr leaned in and murmured, ‘Will you kiss me goodbye, Breanne? Give me a memory before I fight Feann.’
She didn’t want to, for it would only remind her of the nights they had shared in each other’s arms. Her body ached for his, but she held herself back. In the end, he ignored her silence and claimed her lips.
It was a gentle kiss, coaxing her to respond. His mouth was warm and seductive, his tongue sliding against the seam of her lips. Her body responded with heat and desire, and between her legs, she grew damp. Alarr continued kissing her while he drew her down. He sat upon a low stool and pulled her to straddle his waist. Against her womanhood she could feel his hard length.
Though he did naught but kiss her, she craved more. She ached to have his body inside hers, and she wanted to remember every part of this moment.
He pulled back, and her lips felt numb and swollen. She needed him badly, and her heart raced within her chest.
‘Breanne,’ he said quietly. ‘I want you to know that I never wanted any woman as much as I want you.’
‘Then let go of your vengeance,’ she offered. ‘Leave with me, and turn your back on the past.’
He held her waist, and answered, ‘You know I cannot.’
‘Will not,’ she corrected. ‘You’re making a choice.’
‘I can’t let it go,’ he said. ‘Feann changed me. He took away my ability to fight, and I will have to live with this weakness for the rest of my life. He must pay for what he did to me.’
‘You are still the same man as before.’ She reached out to touch his heart. ‘Your strength of will is greater than any man I’ve ever met.’
‘It does me no good if I lack balance or the ability to run.’ He tightened his grip around her waist. ‘Because of him, I cannot defend you the way I once could. I would never forgive myself if someone hurt you.’
And she sensed that this was the true reason. No matter what she said, he did not believe he could protect her. Rather than try to make the best of his skills, he had chosen to walk away. There was nothing she could do to change his mind.
Instead, she extricated herself from his embrace and stood. ‘You may not believe you are the same man as before. But I believe you are stronger now. I pray that you will abandon this vengeance and leave with me at dawn.’ She bent down and kissed him. ‘Goodbye, Alarr.’
As she left his shelter, her heart broke. But she had no other choice than to walk away from a man trapped by the past, unable to look towards his own future.
Alarr hadn’t slept at all that night. His furs had felt empty without Breanne in his arms. And though he’d told himself that he had done the right thing, a part of him didn’t believe it.
Breanne had left at dawn, as promised, with the guards her mother had sent. She’d spoken no farewell to him or even to Feann. But as she’d ridden away, it had torn a piece of himself away. The emptiness flowed through him, and he realised that she had given him a gift by leaving. There would be no distractions during the battle, nothing to stop him from fighting with everything he had.
Feann had arranged for the battle to take place at sundown. Alarr had spent the day with Rurik, sparring and preparing for the fight. His brother had said little about the upcoming contest, but there was no doubt that he did not approve.
At twilight, Alarr walked towards the inner part of the fortress. His emotions were calm, and no longer did he fear death. Breanne was gone, and it made it easier to face her foster father. This was the day he had been waiting for, the moment when he would face his enemy and prove that his fighting skills were not lost. Vengeance belonged to him.
In one hand, he held a wooden shield and in the other, his uncle’s sword. Rurik had given him the weapon, and when he held it, the weapon brought back a flood of memories. He remembered training alongside his uncle, watching as Hafr had taught him how to lunge and parry a blow. And he remembered the clang of iron and how his arm had gone numb from the force of each strike.
Watch over me, he prayed to the gods. Let my sword be strong. Let me give honour to my ancestors.
He walked closer, and the memories shifted to the memory of the wedding massacre. He remembered offering the sword to Gilla and her smile as
