Page 110 of Viking Unchained

“A man must needs pick the exact right time. I wanted to be holding you, like this, when I said the words I have ne’er said before in my life.” Who knew I had a talent for love words?

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“I love you, heartling.” It gets easier with each saying. Remarkable!

“Oh. My.”

“Is that all you can say?” He smiled against her lips. “I love you, Lydia. You have my heart.”

“I love you, too, Finn. Forever.”

You never know what a Viking

will do . . .

Lydia was still stunned when Finn ordered her to put on a robe, and he drew on his jeans. Then he led her by the hand into the living room.

She stopped in her tracks.

All the candles had been lit and moved to the coffee table, where his sword lay, along with a shoe and a velvet box. “Good Lord. Are you planning some ritual sacrifice? Do Vikings do that? Well, if you’re expecting a virgin, you’re in the wrong place, as you well know. What is this?”

“A Viking’s attempt to make amends. Come.” He tugged her closer, then pushed her down on the sofa.

He sat on the chair next to her.

Now, if only I can get it right. “Give me your hand, Lydia,” he said. Before she could guess what he was going to do, he took the sword and ran the razor-sharp edge lightly over her wrist.

“Are you crazy?” she murmured, watching the drops of blood pool on her wrist.

You have seen nothing yet. “Of a certainty,” he said.

“I know you didn’t like being tied to a bed, but—”

Women can be such fools. “Who said I did not like it?”

She blinked at him. “What I meant was, there is no need for violence, just because you’re irritated with me.”

“Silly girling!” He chucked her under the chin.

She watched with horror as Finn made a shallow slit on his own wrist and laid the sword back down.

Then he pressed his massive hand across hers so the blood mingled and their pulses merged. Looking her directly in the eye, he stated firmly, “Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth.”

Lydia was in shock.

Oh. My. God! Heart hammering, Lydia sat frozen with shock. He really was a Viking barbarian. Then she smiled. My Viking barbarian.

Adjusting his hand so that their fingers twined together and folded, wrist to wrist, her wound seemed to tingle and throb with an erotic rhythm.

Oh, my!

“Now you repeat the words,” he demanded raspily.

In stunned silence, her eyes locked with his. She could not speak.

“Say the words, Lydia,” Thorfinn coaxed rawly.

“Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth,” she repeated softly.