Rescued By The Viking

‘Gisela...?’ A wavering voice called up from the step. An old man’s voice. Her father.

Ragnar’s mouth broke from hers in a moment, a swift, brutal ending. His head rocked back in shock, strips of colour searing his high cheekbones. His hands fell from her shoulders, dropped to his sides, chastened. His strong sinewy fingers curled into tight fists. By Odin, what on earth had possessed him?

* * *

Bereft of his grip, Gisela staggered back on useless legs, knocking back against the cottage wall. A flake of loose plaster dislodged itself, scattering small white pieces across her dress. Dazed, she brought her hand to her quivering mouth, almost in wonderment. Her fingers trembled, shaking with reaction. Why was she not shouting at him, berating him for what he had done? Slapping him across the face? Instead she sank back, knees barely supporting her, belly wound tight in a coil of longing, a craving for...what?

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