“How is your head?”

Mara flinched at the approach of his hand, but he stopped short.

“Your head,” he pointed out. “You fell from your horse. Do you remember?”

She touched her forehead and winced. “Where is my horse?”

“’Twould appear that it gave us a much-needed diversion to keep the men, who were after you, busy in the forest. I’m certain they’ve secured it back at the river by now. I would have. No sense in letting a perfectly good mount go astray.”

“Then why did you?” she snapped.

His lips crept into a smile. “Because I took a beating in its stead.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “I should warn you, a broken nose, reminiscent of the one you already have, hurts much worse the third time around.”

“Ah, so I do have discolored eyes. I was wondering if you’d left any marks upon me.”

She frowned. “You speak as though you enjoyed it.”

He squeezed his nose gently between his thumb and fingers, which evidently brought a sudden pang between his eyes. “Hardly.”

“Who were those men?”

“I know not,” he stated with a shrug. “Their presence was as much a surprise to me as it was to you. But if you’d listened to me, they would never have known we were there in the first place, nor would you have that nasty bump on your head.”

“So, this is my fault?”

His brows lifted. “I know the means by which I saved you from those men was not as noble as you’d have liked, but nonetheless, you’ve been saved.”

“And I suppose you want compensation from my father worth my weight in silver, aye?”

“I want naught from him. Mayhap a bit of gratitude from you would suffice. Need I remind you, if not for my timely presence, you’d be a whore for those men on the River Shannon. Who knows how many would have had you by now. The way I see it, you’re indebted to me for saving your life, not to mention your precious maidenhead.”

She gasped at his arrogance but could only counter his rude boasts with a gaping mouth and a tied tongue.

He lifted his finger to her chin and closed her mouth for her. “My apologies, my lady. Perhaps we can start over. Say with introductions?”

Mara hardened to stone and crossed her arms. “I don’t see how knowing your name will help matters.”

“Very well. Then let us begin with yours.”

She glared at him. He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes sparkled with benevolence as though he were truly interested in her and only her. His hair had fallen over his shoulder, and several small braids adorned with silver clips flashed in the firelight. They were minute, but incredibly detailed with interlacing designs.

Despite his unmistakably Norse features and what she’d been taught to believe, he was well-groomed and clean. Quite frankly, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes on. He was not at all what she thought the Fionnghaill should look like, or act like for that matter, and she assumed that outlandish lies and exaggerated stories existed only because no one had dared to get close enough. By her own understanding, he was surely more than a savage…but no less than a man, who only inquired of her name.

Finally, she gave in, for names were harmless enough. “Mara. My name is Mara.”

He smiled and boldly brushed back a lock of her hair. “Are you hurt anywhere else—Lady Mara?”

“Nay.”

“Are you certain?” This time he peered closer. “You took quite a fall.”

“I’m fine,” Mara insisted. “It wasn’t the first.”

“Do you always make a habit of falling from your horse?”

Mara’s mouth curled naturally into a smile, but she forced it away as quickly as it appeared.

“Ah, you find me funny,” he pointed out.

“I find you odd and foreign. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps I’d be less of those things if you knew my name.”

Mara said nothing. Although she was remotely curious, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she cared. As she expected, he offered it all the same.

“I’m Dægan of Hladir, son of Rælik.”

Mara liked the sound of his name, and it fit him well. But she refused to show any regard, acting as if his name were ordinary and, at best, a name that would soon slip from her mind.

But…his name clung to her thoughts, and she found herself almost brooding over it. Every idling recollection revolved around him: his voice as he spoke his own name, his exceptional generosity, his entrancing blue eyes, and what still seemed to be left unanswered—his reason for risking his life to save her.

Mara felt his hand upon hers, a sudden forwardness she hadn’t anticipated. His skin was rather warm compared to the coolness of hers, and his adept fingers found their way around the sensitive underside of her wrist. He held her with a grip demonstrative of his tenacious might and control. But even as the little voice in her head told her to pull away and run, she couldn’t. Her hand, he turned over, and in it, he placed the silver-and-gold dagger that once lay at her side.

“You can keep this with you tonight,” he said, closing her fingers around it. “I promise you, I won’t give you any reason to use it.”

How could she doubt those words? Those eyes of dazzling blue? They were the inlet to his soul, where mystery and compassion were harbored, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but drown in them.

Dægan stood and retreated to the opposite side of the fire, standing massively before her like an old tree rooted in the ground. His arms and legs proved his masculinity and power, and the strength in his jaw accentuated his massive physique. His long golden mane complemented his features well, and his eyes could change like the tides in the sea, stern and intimidating at one glance, and gentle and honest at another.

While she was lost in her thoughts, he suddenly lay down upon the ground and covered himself with his thick bear cloak.

“You’re going to sleep?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said, shifting on the ground. “Even we Lochlannaigh must sleep, my dear.”

“But I must get home! My father will be worried sick!”

“I’ll get you home, I promise. But not tonight.”

Mara’s voice rose frantically. “When?”

“When I’ve an army of men to accompany me. ’Tis not safe for just you and me.” He rolled to face her. “And you should put those thoughts of leaving whilst I sleep out of your mind. Even if you left right now, you wouldn’t make it back before morn—that is if you didn’t lose your way in the night. Let’s be smart, Mara, and wait until my men can join us before we go traipsing back through hostile territory.”

“I thought your kind always traveled in groups, roving bands of warriors, that sort of thing. Why do you not travel with your men?”

“Because for what I was doing, I didn’t need their company.”

“And what may I ask were you doing?”

He sighed. “If you must know, I had chosen a bride and was going to bring her home with me.”

“A bride?”

“Aye.”

Mara’s temperament changed as she gathered the extent of his affections. “You seem quite fond of her.”

“I am.”

Mara kept watching him, liking the way he held the unknown woman in high regard. She softened a little. “Mayhap I should apologize. Had it not been for me and my untimely need of rescue, you’d likely be in her arms right now.”

“Think naught of it,” Dægan dismissed, repositioning himself beneath the cloak. “’Twill all work out soon enough.”

“How did you acquire this woman to be your bride? An alliance?”

“Not exactly. I’ve chosen her, this is certain, but her father fails to know much about it.”

Confused, Mara prodded deeper into his personal affairs. “And how do you plan to persuade this uninformed father of hers?”

“Well, I was hoping to offer him a dowry he could not refuse, along with an allotment of seven cows, but it might prove to be unnecessary considering my selfless, heroic measures this fine day.”

Realization struck her soundly, and her words stumbled from her mouth. “You speak of me? And my father, Cathal? The King of Connacht?”