Blind Allegiance (17 page)

“By seizing this sword I pledge my life in service to Jarl Randvior Sigurdsson and his captains. Defying all others.”

Once sworn, they lined up behind the high table. Sixty-seven warriors swore oaths of protection. Afterward, the English soldiers were offered the same opportunity. They pledged their lives in service.
Anything
promised greater reward than slavery.

Everyone drank. Even the slaves were allowed to celebrate as long as the master’s cup was kept full. Thralls provided an endless supply of ale and wine. Randvior wanted to get pissed—filthy stinking drunk. He needed to forget everything before he took his frustrations out on an innocent man. He slammed three servings of ale and called for another as he urged a voluptuous thrall onto his lap. She giggled and held the horn to his lips.

He teased, prodded her arse, and pinched her nipples, his eyes coolly fastened on Noelle’s astonished face.
Let her feel the depth of my bitterness before she ever considers flirting with another man again.
He knew drink and wenches were a volatile combination. And Noelle was definitely not the kind of lady to sit timidly and watch him indulge in the pleasures of another woman’s body. She bent over Brandon and whispered something in his ear. Brandon shook his head, adamantly. Noelle shrugged and disappeared.

Randvior’s lips curled malevolently. He brushed the woman from his lap and staggered to Brandon’s table.

“What did she say?”

A haughty grin split Brandon’s face. “She asked for my assistance to restore her family’s honor. She asked me to marry her.”

Randvior wanted to slap the egoistical look off his face.

“Are you of a mind to accept?”

“You’d consider me a damnable liar if I denied any attraction for the girl.”

Randvior grabbed a glass of wine off the table and choked it down. He wiped his mouth dry. “If you were any other man, I’d kill you for that admission.”

“Aye,” the Scotsman agreed. “And if I
weren’t
your friend, I’d conveniently forget to tell you to take that enchanting girl as your wife before another man does.”

Randvior grunted and shot him an appreciative look. “I intend to.”

Desperate to escape the humiliation of Randvior’s drunken display, Noelle bolted outside. The only place she felt safe was in the bathhouse, shielded from inquiring minds. She shivered, finding herself once again poorly equipped for the cold. Shelter stood only a few yards away. She hurried and nearly lost her footing as her silk slippers skated across the ice.

She slammed the bathhouse door shut behind her. Randvior’s unpredictability and his mother’s conniving and interference were driving her crazy. She had lost too many people she loved to simply accept her precarious position is this household. But it seemed futile to resist Randvior. She sat on a chair near the large fire pit, warmed her hands, then rested her head on the table.

After a while, a noise pulled her from her racing thoughts. The door opened suddenly and she jerked. Half expecting to find Randvior leaning against the doorjamb, she gasped at finding the young man she had flirted with instead. A beatific smile lit his mouth.

“Mistress Noelle.” A head of dark hair, tied back in a tail, framed a handsome face. Mischievous blue eyes appraised her leisurely.

“Remember me?”

As if I could forget a face like yours.
“Yes,” she answered.

“Dimwitted
fool
. . .” she mumbled self-deprecatingly. The object of her teasing had taken her attention more seriously than she had intended. His unnatural good looks were rivaled only by Randvior. She caught her breath as he came closer. He knelt. Maybe if she ignored him he’d go away.

“My father is Jarl Fald Ovesen, our steading only a day’s ride north,” he informed, not offering his name. “He sat at Randvior’s right side during the feast.”

“Yes.” She remembered the stocky warrior very well. “It is an honor to sit at the
jarl’s
high table
.
I am sure your family deserves this privilege.”

He smiled and plopped down in the chair across from her. “I am greatly encouraged by your favor this evening.” He leaned forward and took her hand. “Should I consider myself the most fortunate man on earth to capture the eye of the loveliest woman at the feast?”

Warning sounded in Noelle’s head. Extraordinary sensations titillated and punished her body all at once.
I’m absolutely devoted to Randvior,
her heart spoke—but she didn’t understand.

“Stjernene blek i sammenligning.”

Bloody heathen tongue. She scooted away.

The stranger rubbed his chin and grinned rakishly. He spread his legs, the outline of his engorged shaft visible through his leather breeches. She must concentrate on other thoughts. Were
all
Norsemen concupiscent swine oblivious to rejection? If she screamed, Lauga would blame her, and she refused to give that woman another reason to find fault in her. If she ran away, he’d chase her. She didn’t possess the strength to look up and instead rose to her feet, hoping to discourage further advances. It didn’t have the desired effect. Rather . . . encouraged it. He leapt and gathered Noelle in a tight embrace.

“My dreams are answered,” he petted her head. “Could it be that you remain unblemished by any man?” Amusement tinged his voice.

“Let me go.”

Too late.

The door burst open. With her back facing the entrance, she was at a disadvantage, but she recognized the bestial sounds of Randvior. She flinched at each heavy footstep she heard.

“Hva faen gjør du?”

“Hva enhver mann ville gjort i nærvær av en slik skjønnhet,”
Ovesen shot back.

Roughly shoved aside, Noelle turned just in time to see Randvior’s fist connect with the younger man’s face.
Oh, God.
Reminiscent of a Greek epic, she ran for cover and ducked behind a set of shelves. Noelle peeked around the corner, heart pounding. Ovesen shook his head and hurled his weight at Randvior. They crashed to the floor, a tangled mass of fists and curses.

Randvior rolled onto his side and sprang to his feet. He landed a solid kick to the man’s head, reached down, and let out a ferocious growl, lifting him by the front of his shirt. Randvior shook him and hurled him across the room. A pile of firewood broke his fall.

Randvior turned away from the scene and looked at her.

Shaking like a leaf, her life flashed before her eyes.
He’s going to kill me.

Perhaps if she confessed, explained why she chose to wear the dress and flirt with another man, it would put an end to this misunderstanding. Surely, he couldn’t blame her. Self-preservation demanded action, nothing more. Rage uncoiled inside her, too. Lauga acted the cold-blooded bitch at every turn and Randvior continuously isolated her. The indomitable Viking never provided her a means to keep her mind or hands occupied. She felt useless. Bravely, she stepped out and went his way. Randvior’s eyes swelled from silvery half-moons to spitting flames.

The truth must be revealed, and now.

“Before you punish me,” she said, attempting to take control of the situation. “Answer one question. What do you want from me?”

His body shook convulsively as he laughed. Rage and bitterness distorted his face. He glanced over his shoulder at his rival, who remained unconscious on the floor.

“Answer me!” she demanded.

He fanned his fingers and cracked his knuckles. His usually bright eyes were lackluster and red. Her fascination with him deepened because of his fierce possessiveness of her. But she deserved to hear him
express
his feelings; at least hear what he wanted.

“Tell me or I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands. The good Lord doesn’t cease his labors above to give a man time to catch his breath to muster the courage to speak plainly with a lady. Much time has been wasted—on both of us.”

Randvior resumed his preoccupation with his hands.

“Tell me!” She jabbed a finger in his chest.

He trapped her arms.
“Tell you?”
he repeated incredulously. His voice fell to a whisper. “Perplexing wench.” He looked at his hands, then straight back at her. “Making demands of me when it is
I
who should make them. See the damage you’ve reaped by taking matters into your own hands—attracting the attention of a man who risked his life by following you into the shadows.” He dug his fingernails into her tender flesh. “I’ll answer, but I warn that you may not like what I have to say.”

“Tell me.”

He shook his head, burdened by something she didn’t understand. “First, you’re confined to your rooms after the feast. Your quick departure has sparked a new round of damaging gossip. Do you know how many throats I’d have to cut to stop wagging tongues from weaving wicked lies about you throughout the Trondelag? I haven’t the time or resources to do it. But consider
this
while you stew in your icy pot. It has been my intention, since the moment I set eyes on you in Durham, to bring you home as my bride.”

Her heart liquefied.
By Jesus, what have I done?

“You
will
yield to me.”

Her heart fluttered as his hands locked around her waist like a tight chain.

“I want you, goddamn it,” he lowered his mouth and kissed her violently. “And by Odin, I’ll have you.”

He raked his lips across her tender mouth.

Forgive me,
she thought
.

They returned to the hall and Randvior escorted her to her seat. “Stay here.”

“No.” He still hadn’t convinced her of anything. “I find my circumstances too awkward to bear.”

The creases around Randvior’s mouth deepened. “What is this about, Noelle? Are you purposely challenging my authority to prove something to my guests?”

“This isn’t about you.” Noelle stood. “It’s about honor—my honor.” In a huff of tears, Noelle ran upstairs.

Chapter 13

Odin’s Altar

Randvior watched her climatic retreat, along with his guests. What else did she want? Hadn’t he made his feelings remarkably clear? He’d admitted his desire for her from the moment he’d set eyes upon her. Flippant female, she goaded the devil playing around with Sveinn in the great hall. Even worse, she was prone to disobedience and emotional outbursts, had complete disregard for protocol, and no respect for her elders. And now everyone knew how undisciplined his little vixen truly was.

But in truth, Noelle wreaked havoc on his heart. She infuriated, delighted, and branded the deepest regions of his soul in the process.

By Odin, he loved her
. Everything inside him went hot and still.

He swallowed a bit of wine before he stalked upstairs. Her door sat ajar and he went inside. The sound of her tears stabbed him. He squinted and had the misfortune of imagining Sveinn’s hands all over her body. With this agonizing picture inside his head, it was hard to control himself. He swaggered closer, more intoxicated by bitterness than spirits.

If he must choose—here and now—he knew she was constituted of the most charitable nature and loyalty he’d ever seen in a woman. And those damnable eyes ignited his libido in a second. Her slow smile rivaled the glory of any sunrise. And those delicate colored cheeks and lips begged for an endless supply of kisses. She breathed sensuality, intentionally or not. And that arse, the gods cracked the mold. She rolled onto her side.

He cursed himself for being an infernal beast.

“Did I hurt you?”

She smoothed her hair and sat up, sniffled, and addressed him unchallenging for the first time in days. “I know your duty lies with your tenants and countrymen. Yet, I dared to hope to be a small part of your life, especially after what we have shared.” Noelle swung her legs over the bed, feet dangling. “I realize I have no right to make any demands. But if you feel anything for me, or possess an ounce of mercy where I’m concerned, I beg if you find it necessary to seek pleasure in the arms of another woman, give me warning so I don’t have to see it ever again.”

She loves me . . .

More than he had anticipated. She looked so helpless gazing up at him. And hot enough to melt the cold fury that still ravaged his body.

“Have I not proven myself worthy of your trust and protection? I’m no longer the gullible maid you abducted from Durham after experiencing the pleasure of your bed. At least I fully understand now why men seek out women. I apologize for my reprehensible behavior. I didn’t want another man, Randvior. I only seek what any woman in my position would—a way home—or a husband to shield me from humiliation. Grant me protection and I will work my fingers to the bone to earn my keep in your household. No task too menial, no position too humble.” A new round of tears began to fall.

He didn’t like her behavior one bit. But if he walked in her shoes . . . “What safeguards did you employ to protect your reputation when I found you in the bathhouse with Sveinn Ovesen?” He inched closer. “I declared my feelings and you still defied me.”

“My brother made it abundantly clear what you intended. And I’d sooner serve Lauga than be attached to a man who doesn’t love me.”

“Before you act too rashly and choose spinsterhood over my bed, come with me. I want to show you something.”

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, but unlocked the door connecting their chambers. She’d never been invited to his rooms before; this was
his
sanctuary. Noelle seemed amazed by the lavishness of the décor. He opened a wardrobe and picked a cloak and boots for her to wear. Gracefully, she didn’t comment on the fact that he kept an array of women’s garments in his bedroom. He wrapped the fur around her shoulders and pinned it with one of his own gold brooches. Next, he knelt, proffering the boots, and she slipped her feet inside; he laced them tight.

“Thank you,” she said.

He in turn dressed warmly, and then led her to double doors that opened onto a small balcony. She walked slowly down the stairs. No one would see them slip away.