Viking (20 page)
Three weeks after the storm inundated them with snow, the sun came out and spring thaw began. It was mid-March. Though a spring storm wasn’t out of the ordinary, according to Thorne, Fiona hoped to see green grass soon, and budding trees. Spring also heralded the time of serious planning for Rolo’s downfall.
Fiona, Rika and Tyra were allowed to sit in on the planning sessions because they had been the
ones to suffer the brunt of Rolo’s abuse. Fiona listened carefully as each man contributed to the conversation.
“I will return home immediately and train with my warriors,” Thorolf informed them. “They have grown lax during the winter.”
“My men have passed the winter in the village with their families,” Thorne said, “but they will come to my aid when I send for them. Aren can contact them and set up practice sessions with sword and battleaxe.” He directed his next words to his brother. “This is not your fight, Thorolf. You need not risk yourself if you don’t wish to.”
Thorolf and Rika exchanged a look that hinted at private matters. When Rika nodded slightly, Thorolf cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the others. But it was to Garm that he spoke.
“I have Rika’s permission to speak to you about a personal matter, Garm. I wish to wed Rika, and she is agreeable. Should you give your blessing to the match, challenging Rolo for the return of her dowry will become my right.”
Garm didn’t appear surprised. “I have no objection as long as Rika wishes to become your wife. What say you, daughter?”
“I would have Thorolf, Father. I am convinced he is not like Rolo.”
“Then I agree to the match. The wedding will take place at the
althing
next month. Now, back to business,” Garm continued once the matter of Rika’s future was settled. “I have a dozen warriors at my disposal. Our combined forces will outnumber
Rolo’s warriors. By law, Rika’s dowry must be returned. I vow Rolo will not grow rich off of my daughter’s gold and silver, nor will he use the land that is rightfully hers.”
“ ’Tis Garm’s and Thorolf’s right to fight for Rika’s dowry,” Thorne said. “I want naught but Rolo’s life. I lost a child and nearly lost my wife because of his vile deeds. I swear he will not live to hurt another woman. Nor will Bretta work her evil upon another unsuspecting innocent again.”
“Killing is against God’s law,” Fiona whispered, stunned by Thorne’s vindictiveness.
“Vengeance is a Viking’s right,” Thorne claimed, scowling. “How can you argue for their lives after what they did to you?”
“I am a Christian, Thorne. Killing another human is a mortal sin.”
“You need kill no one,” Thorne said blithely. “I will happily perform that task for you.”
“Thorne is right, Fiona,” Thorolf contended. “Neither Rolo nor his sister deserves to live.”
“ ’Tis settled, then,” Garm declared. “Thorolf will return to his homestead and whip his men into shape while Aren takes charge of Thorne’s men. Thorne can train here with my own warriors. Four weeks from today we will all gather in the woods beyond Rolo’s homestead. I will approach Rolo first and demand the return of Rika’s dowry. If he gives it up without a fight, Thorne is welcome to exact revenge upon him and his sister in any way he sees fit.
“But should Rolo refuse to return the dowry and
initiate a battle, our combined forces will retaliate. Are we agreed?”
Before the men could voice their agreement, Fiona spoke up. “Rika, Tyra and I wish to join you.”
“Nay!” Thorne and Thorolf roared at the same time.
“ ’Tis too dangerous for women,” Thorne added more reasonably.
Rika rose abruptly, stretching to her full height of nearly six feet. “Viking women have fought beside their men down through the ages. We are a strong and hardy lot, as fierce as our warrior husbands.”
“Tyra and Fiona are not Viking women,” Thorne argued. “They have not the strength of our women.”
“Aye,” Aren agreed. “I’d prefer that Tyra remain with Garda. And as long as we are discussing important matters, I wish to ask Thorne to release Tyra from slavery so that I may wed her at the same time Thorolf and Rika marry. Tyra is carrying my child.”
Tyra flushed and studied her hands.
“Is the child the reason you wish to marry Tyra?” Thorne asked.
“Nay!” Aren said fiercely. “I love Tyra. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. We wish to sail with you to Man.”
“Tyra, do you wish to marry Aren?” Thorne wanted to know.
“Aye, with all my heart.”
“So be it,” Thorne decreed. “I will release Tyra from slavery and dower her myself.”
“That still doesn’t answer our question. Will you take us with you?” Fiona persisted. “Tyra and I are not weaklings. If you do not allow us to accompany you, we will follow with or without your permission.”
“Aye,” Tyra and Rika agreed in unison.
The men exchanged resigned looks. “Very well,” Garm said, speaking for the others. “The women can accompany us, but they will not be allowed to join in the battle.”
Rika, Fiona and Tyra nodded, readily agreeing to the conditions.
Four weeks passed with alarming speed. Thorne worked daily with Garm’s men, conditioning them for battle. Vikings liked nothing better than a good skirmish, and the men looked forward with relish to the pure excitement of combat. Finally the time of departure arrived. Most of the snow had melted, revealing patches of green and brown beneath a thin crust of ice. Spring arrived earlier along the seashore than it did in the mountains, making for easier and faster travel along the coastal roads and byways.
The women had been fitted with helms and light armor and provided with swords. Rika’s blade was full-sized, but Fiona and Tyra received lighter ones fashioned especially for them. The night before their journey, Fiona and Thorne lay in their bed behind the curtained alcove, whispering together.
“Don’t forget,” Thorne reminded her. “The women are to remain behind the warriors at all
times. I almost lost you once and will not tempt fate again.”
“You heard Rika. Viking women are accustomed to fighting beside their men.”
“And you heard my answer. You are no Viking woman. You’re small and fragile and not trained to fight.”
“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
“Are you referring to Rolo?”
“You know I am.”
“Don’t meddle, Fiona. This is between me and Rolo.”
When she started to protest, his mouth came down hard on hers, ending her words before they were formed. His kiss was fierce and demanding as he tasted, then withdrew, then tasted again, more fully this time. “I’ve never tasted anything as sweet as your mouth,” Thorne whispered against her lips.
Her face was bathed in a halo of candlelight as she gazed up at him. “Are you trying to distract me?” she asked archly.
He kissed her again. “Is it working?”
She grinned. “Not yet.”
His gaze went to her naked breasts—she had long since stopped sleeping in her chemise. Her pulse beat hard and fast beneath his hungry gaze. Her mouth went dry, aching for the touch of his lips upon hers. He happily obliged. But it wasn’t his lips he diligently plied on her breasts, it was his tongue. He lapped moisture onto her nipples and then blew on them, creating a sensation so exquisite Fiona moaned aloud.
His mouth traced a path down her pale skin, stopping to explore her belly button before continuing downward to a place so erotically responsive that Fiona would have cried out had Thorne not placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries.
“Quiet, love,” Thorne whispered. “The men sleeping in the hall will hear us. We’ll have them groaning with frustration and wishing for women of their own.”
Fiona’s hand drifted over his face. Her breath quickened and her body tautened as her fingertips roamed over his lips. They were firm and moist from her kisses, his chin and cheeks prickly with a day’s growth of whiskers. With her other hand she stroked his hair—sun-bright, thick, long, alive beneath her fingertips. He allowed her but a moment to enjoy her exploration before parting her thighs with his knee and delving his fingers into the lush thicket between her legs. Unerringly he found the hidden button and circled it slowly, oh so slowly, before moving downward to the slick crevice that was already weeping for him.
“Yes, that’s how I like you,” he murmured in a voice thick with desire. “Open wider, let me taste you there.”
His erotic words brought a fresh spurt of moisture to her intimate flesh as her legs shifted, allowing him greater access. His head dipped into the vee formed by her legs and his tongue touched her. Forgetting caution, Fiona let out a shivering cry and arched into his mouth. He worked her with his tongue until she was drawn taut as a bow and tiny
contractions began deep within her, radiating outward. Sensing her climax, he moved upward along her body and filled her with himself, intensifying the bursts of pleasure shooting through her. Control was beyond her as she writhed and twisted, pressing his buttocks, wanting him deeper, wanting it faster …
He surged and plunged within her, still hard and tense and struggling to achieve the ultimate pleasure. As the exquisite sensations faded away she felt him go utterly still, buried so deep inside her she feared she would burst. The pleasure was exquisite. Then his breath left him in a great expulsion of air as his body convulsed. She held onto him tightly, taking everything he had to give, content because it was enough.
Fiona heard Thorne heave a great sigh and knew he felt the same as she. If Brann could know how close they were now, he would be pleased, she thought wistfully. But of course Brann did know. He was never far from her; even now she could feel his presence.
“What are you thinking?” Thorne asked sleepily. “You’re so quiet.”
“I was thinking of Brann, but don’t believe for a moment that I’ve forgotten our discussion before you distracted me. I’m afraid for you, Thorne. I’d die if anything happened to you. Rolo’s reputation as a fierce and cunning fighter has been sung by skalds. What if he kills you?”
“That won’t happen, love. Justice is on my side. Forget it and go to sleep.”
Unfortunately, sleep wasn’t easily attained. Fiona’s senses were shrieking danger. Something unforeseen was going to happen but she had no idea what. Death, aye, she could literally smell the stench of death and destruction. Sharp and nauseous, it permeated the small enclosure and sent chills racing down her spine. It was a long time before Fiona’s mind shut down and sleep finally carried her away. But even in sleep her dreams were fraught with images of death and mayhem.
The next day Garm, Thorne, Fiona, Tyra and Rika left in the company of Garm’s highly trained warriors. The sky was overcast and the day was cool, but there was a definite hint of spring in the air as Garda waved them off. It was a six-day journey up the coast from Bergen to Kaupang. Six days of alternately being drenched with cold rain and then warmed by bright sunshine. Heavy weapons, tents made of animal hides, and furs for their beds had been loaded on pony carts and followed behind the small army.
The women had no difficulty keeping up. At night the army pitched their tents in a clearing and were off early the following morning. Meals consisted for the most part of dried or salted meat, but someone usually hunted fresh game for a welcome change. It was not a difficult journey, but Fiona couldn’t help recalling that she’d lost a child along this same road, a child she’d wanted with all her heart.
They reached their destination in good time and found Aren and Thorolf waiting for them with their
warriors at the designated place. Fiona counted nearly fifty men camped in the woods. The army was ample enough, in her opinion, to win any battle they chose to undertake.
Thorne had no reason to suspect that Rolo had been quietly hiring mercenaries during the winter, that he had expected Garm to demand the return of Rika’s dowry and knew the powerful jarl was prepared to use force to get it. Rolo had also been suspicious of the way Thorne disappeared from his hall without a word to anyone. Being of a distrustful nature, Rolo guessed that someone in his own household had gotten to Thorne with the truth about Fiona’s sudden departure, and that Thorne had hastened to her rescue.
No one would admit to the deed, so Rolo had administered severe beatings to all the thralls and karls until the guilty party could no longer stand the cries of innocent men and women and had confessed. His bed slave Mista had been severely punished for her betrayal. Rolo had beaten her himself, beaten her until she lost consciousness and two of her ribs and her arm were broken. Then he had set about hiring mercenaries in anticipation of a spring attack.
Rolo’s sentries had already alerted him to the large army camped in the woods beyond the homestead. Rolo knew who they were and their numbers. He even knew there were women among the warriors.
Protected by six Viking warriors, Garm advanced toward Rolo’s homestead. Thorne, Thorolf and Aren remained behind in the woods beyond the tilled fields where they could hear but not be seen. The women stayed close to their men, garbed like Valkyrie warrior maidens in armor and helms.
Garm and his party halted a few yards from the house. “Rolo, come out! I wish to speak with you,” Garm shouted.
Several moments later Rolo appeared in the doorway, armed to the teeth. “Speak and be on your way,” Rolo roared back. “Your daughter divorced me; we have nothing to discuss.”
“There’s the matter of Rika’s dowry,” Garm returned. “It belongs to my daughter and her new
husband. Return it and there will be no hard feelings between us.”
“Did Rika not tell you? She gave me permission to keep her dowry.”
“Rika feared for her life; she had to agree to your unreasonable demands. The law is specific on this issue. Upon divorce, the dowry must be returned in full to the wife.”
“And if I do not?” Rolo challenged.
“I will take it by force, if I must.”
“And I will fight for the right to keep it,” Rolo returned. “I am prepared to do battle. I am not stupid. I know Thorne has joined forces with you and understand why. What I do not comprehend is why Thorolf sided against me. We have always been friends. ’Tis no secret that Thorolf cast his own brother and his brother’s whore from his hall.”
Thorolf had heard enough. His face mottled with rage, he threw caution to the wind and strode out to join Garm. “I can speak for myself, Rolo. I’ve had a change of heart where Fiona is concerned. She is Thorne’s wife and welcome to share my hall. As for Rika, she has agreed to become my wife.”
Rolo gave a shout of laughter. “You’re going to marry that cold little bitch? Now I understand why you’re here. You have a stake in her dowry. You can’t have it. Rika gave it to me and I’m going to keep it.”
“You’re outnumbered, Rolo. You can’t possibly defeat the army I’ve gathered,” Garm warned. “Prepare to die.”
Suddenly Bretta stepped from behind her
brother, her tall, lithe form garbed in mail. “Look around you, Garm. We have not been idle. We are fully prepared for war and relish the opportunity to do battle with you.”
Even as Bretta spoke, men began streaming out of the door and from behind the house.
“Dear God, they have their own army!” Fiona cried out, appalled by the unexpected turn of events. “Many men will die. ’Tis not worth it.”
“Vikings welcome death in battle,” Thorne informed her. “It has been our way since the beginning of time. Only those who die in battle enjoy the full rewards of afterlife. ’Tis straw death we fear.”
“What is straw death?”
“ ’Tis when a Viking dies in bed; a fearful and most shameful way to die.”
“All God’s people enjoy a rewarding afterlife if they live good lives on earth,” Fiona responded. “I do not understand the Viking need to die fighting. If you were a Christian you would recognize the error of your beliefs.”
“I am not a Christian, Fiona. Hush now and listen to what Garm and Rolo are saying.”
“Do you still want to wage war, Garm?” Rolo taunted. “My army of thralls, karls and mercenaries are eager to test their skills.”
“Aye, war it is then,” Garm said solemnly.
“Remain here,” Thorne advised Fiona. “I’m going to add my support to Garm and my brother.” He strode away, a magnificent warrior armed to the teeth, leaving Fiona alone to deal with her fears.
“Ah, Thorne the Relentless,” Rolo jeered when he
saw Thorne striding forward to join Garm and Thorolf. “You would wage war against me after you enjoyed the hospitality of my home?”
“You and Bretta deceived me,” Thorne said. “You sold my wife into slavery and lied to me about it.”
“I did you a favor,” Rolo claimed. “You don’t know what that witch is capable of.”
“Fiona is evil,” Bretta contended. “She stole my brother’s manhood and will do the same to you.”
Thorne’s eyes turned dark with anger and his mouth flattened into a thin line. “Rolo deserved everything Fiona did to him. If you’re hinting that I should abandon Fiona, forget it, Bretta. I love Fiona. She is the only woman I want. If Rolo survives the battle, I will challenge him to personal combat. He deserves to die for his betrayal.”
“I look forward to our confrontation, Thorne the Relentless. You are good, but not as good as I.”
“So be it,” Garm said. “Prepare your men, Rolo the Bold. The battle will commence at dawn tomorrow.” Turning abruptly, Garm marched off, his warriors closing ranks behind him. Thorne and Thorolf remained in place a moment longer, then both whirled on their heels and followed Garm.
Bretta and Rolo stepped back into the hall and bolted the door behind them. “Can we win this battle?” Bretta asked. “You could die, you know.”
“Aye. I am aware of that. ’Tis not a bad way to die. Far better than a straw death.”
“You could return Rika’s dowry.”
“ ’Tis no longer a simple matter of returning her dowry and well you know it. Thorne will accept
nothing less than my death. He is besotted with the witch.”
“I have left nothing to fate,” Bretta informed him. “While you’ve been off recruiting warriors to fight your war, I have arranged for your dragon ship to be provisioned and moored in the fjord. ’Tis ready to sail even as we speak. I hired sailors to man the ship and they are but awaiting orders.”
“You’ve done all this without my knowledge?” Rolo asked, stunned by Bretta’s cunning and foresight.
“Aye, ’twasn’t difficult. I do not want to die. All my jewelry, gold and silver and items of value have been placed aboard the dragon ship while you were off hiring warriors. ’Tis but a short voyage to England. I will throw myself upon the mercy of the Viking King Ragnold of York.”
“So you’re going to abandon me,” Rolo charged.
“Do you begrudge me life?”
“Do you think me so puny a fighter that I will die?”
“Nay, I am but cautious. Should you win the war, you will still have Thorne the Relentless to face.”
“Think you Thorne will let you slip through his fingers? I think not. His vengeance includes both of us.”
“I don’t intend to remain behind and find out what he has in mind for me. I have a plan, Rolo.”
“When do you not?” Rolo asked sardonically. “Will I be dead when you act upon it?”
Bretta flushed. Rolo had hit closer to the truth
than he knew. “Should you fall in battle, I will contrive to slip away to the fjord.”
Rolo gave a fatalistic shrug. “You have my blessing, for what it’s worth. I have always tried to be a good brother and do my duty by you. Should I fall in battle, make haste to the fjord and sail away as far and as fast as you can. But heed me well, sister, Thorne will find you wherever you go.”
Cook fires burned throughout the campsite. Sentries had been posted and tense warriors were engaged in various activities having to do with weapons and battle. Thorne sat beside his campfire, honing Blood-drinker to a lethal edge. Fiona huddled beside him, staring absently into the flames. When she began to shudder, Thorne set his sword and honing stone aside and gave her a little shake. She appeared to be in a trance, and concern worried his brow.
“What is it you see, love? Don’t be afraid to tell me.”
“The stench of death is strong,” Fiona whispered.
“Whose death?”
“I cannot see beyond the armor and helm. But I feel reasonably certain ’tis not you.”
Light from the dancing flames made the whites of her eyes glow eerily. “Will we be victorious?”
“Aye,” Fiona said slowly. “But there is something else, something I cannot see clearly. I sense danger and suffocating darkness.”
“You will be safe behind the lines with Rika and
Tyra,” Thorne said. “Will Garm, Thorolf and Aren survive?”
“Many will die,” Fiona intoned in a voice unlike her own. “I cannot see their faces.”
“I will be extra watchful of their backs,” Thorne said.
“The battle will be fierce,” Fiona whispered. She stared deeper into the flames. “I see … Bretta …” Suddenly she slumped against him, utterly spent. “ ’Tis gone. I fear I have been of little help.”
“I do not need your help, love,” Thorne assured her. “I have been called a berserker in battle. Few men have challenged Blood-drinker and lived to tell the tale.”
“No man is invincible.”
“You said I would not die.”
“I said I did not sense your death, but I have been wrong before. I love you, Thorne. The thought of losing you leaves me trembling with fear.”
Thorne held her close. She was indeed trembling. He wanted her trembling, but not with fear. He wanted her quivering from passion. Pulling her into his arms, he shot to his feet and carried her into their tent, laying her gently down upon their bed of furs. Minutes later their clothing was scattered about the tent, and Thorne, now gloriously naked, knelt above her, his eyes sparkling with a predatory glint.
“I do not hold to the theory that making love before a battle saps a man’s strength,” he said, grinning down at her. “ ’Tis my belief that pumping my seed into the sweetest vessel known to mankind can
only empower me. Open your legs, wife, and welcome your husband.”
Fiona spread her thighs, welcoming her Viking with a beguiling smile. She knew not what her vision had meant, but of one thing she was certain. She would not let Thorne go into battle alone. Whether he liked it or not, she would be on hand to lend aid should he need it. Then all thought ceased as Thorne’s hands and lips took control of her body.
His kisses fell like liquid flame upon her flesh. He adored her with such tender care that Fiona had difficulty reconciling this gentle man with the ferocious Viking warrior who had invaded her island. Suddenly she wanted to love him in the same way he was loving her. With a strength born of need, she pushed him away.
Thorne sat back upon his haunches. “You want me to stop?”
“Nay. I want to love you.” She shoved him down onto his back and promptly straddled him.
He looked at her askance, then gave her a cheeky grin. “Do what you will with me, wife. You have me at your mercy.”
“I want…” Her cheeks flooded with color. “This is what I want,” she said, leaning over him and placing tiny nipping kisses over his chest and belly … and lower.
Thorne sucked his breath in sharply. “Odin’s balls! Are you trying to kill me, woman?”
“Would you have me stop?” she teased as she rubbed her lips over the tip of his swollen erection.
“Only if you wish to send me to Valhalla before my time,” Thorne gasped.
Taking him in her hands, she opened her mouth and slid her lips over him. Her tongue explored with outrageous boldness, savoring the novelty of being the aggressor. Unfortunately, her newfound daring was short-lived. A rumble emanating from deep within Thorne’s chest exploded into a menacing growl as he flexed his hips and flipped Fiona onto her back. Before she could say him nay he had buried himself so deep within her tight sheath she could feel him nudging her womb.
“Witch,” he muttered. “I’m obsessed. Bewitched. Enchanted. Humbled by your love.” He moved, driving himself forward. “I find myself waxing poetic. Did you know Vikings are poets who sing tales of adventure and love?” He flexed his hips, quickening his pace and wringing a keening wail from Fiona.
“I knew Vikings were barbarians but had no idea they were poets,” she panted, nearly beyond simple thought now.
“Odin help me!” Thorne cried as his hands tightened on her hips, locking their loins in a duel older than time. “I would recite love poems to you now but suddenly I can recall none.” Nothing mattered now but reaching that plateau where their souls joined and gut-wrenching pleasure sealed their hearts.
The hour before dawn arrived much too soon to satisfy Fiona.
“I must go,” Thorne said, rising from his warm place beside her. The tent smelled of sex and pure animal lust … and love, but he dared not linger. “War waits for no man.”
“I’ll help you arm yourself,” Fiona said, rising and donning her tunic.
She handed him his padded shirt, which he put on over his tunic. Then he shrugged into his shirt of mail. Once his helmet and nose plate were in place, it was difficult to distinguish him from any other Viking of his size and shape. Then she handed him his bow and arrows, battleaxe, sword and dagger. Before he left the tent he thrust a throwing axe into his belt and took up his wooden shield. He looked fierce. Had Fiona not known better, she would have thought him a demon straight from hell.
She approached him shyly, stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his hard lips. “Go with God, Thorne.” And for good measure, she added, “May Odin and Thor bring you back to me.”
Thorne gave her a wry smile. “How can I not survive? You have petitioned both our gods in my behalf. Don’t forget, love. Stay here where ’tis safe. I vow Rolo will be vanquished before the day is out.”
Fiona watched with trepidation as Thorne joined Garm, Thorolf, Aren and their small army. He turned but once to wave at her before he trod off through the woods to engage in mortal combat, his hardened expression no longer that of a tender lover.
The moment he was out of sight, Fiona flew into
action. Thorne wasn’t going to go off to fight and perhaps die without her, she vowed as she donned her mail and thrust her sword into her belt. Though much lighter than Thorne’s, the sword would give her a modicum of protection should she need it. Not that she intended to engage in battle. All she wanted to do was watch from a safe distance and make sure Thorne survived.
Fiona stepped out of the tent and froze. Then she burst into laughter despite the gravity of the situation. It appeared that she, Rika and Tyra had had the same idea. Tyra and Rika were standing outside their tents, each garbed in identical armor, their faces grim with purpose.
“Apparently we all have the same idea,” Rika said, her voice bubbling with laughter.
“I wanted to be near my man should he need me,” Tyra explained.
“So did we all,” Fiona concurred.
Suddenly an unholy cry rent the air, followed by sounds of clashing swords and clanging battleaxes. The war had begun. As if on signal, the three women moved unerringly toward the heart of battle.
