Wild Viking Princess (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 4

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  For the second day in a row, his dismay increasing, Count Dieter von Wolfenberg watched ship after ship limp into the port of Hamburg. Their crews told harrowing tales of the worst storm in living memory. Many blessed their good fortune at finding shelter along the coast to wait out the gale. Men of Christian persuasion crossed themselves in benediction for any unlucky soul caught in the sea’s fury.

  Dieter’s apprehension grew each time the ship he had travelled from Saxony to meet failed to appear. It carried his sister-by-marriage, Ragna FitzRam. He dreaded bringing the news to his wife that her sister had been lost at sea. Blythe had barely recovered from the grief of her parents’ loss in the White Ship disaster four years before. She had miscarried twice since.

  Unsure how long they might have to wait, he had sent his men off with Magnus Braunschweig. He was confident his old friend would take care of finding a suitable place to pitch camp. Dieter scoured the docks, going from ship to ship, enquiring about a Norman cog. His search yielded nothing, until he chanced upon a captain who had picked up a survivor of a capsized cog. The man had not lived long after his rescue, but had told a tale of his ship turning over after a Danish longboat had come to their aid. Trapped under the ship, he had clung onto the drifting wreck for hours.

  Dieter doubted this was Ragna’s boat. Why would it be close to Danish shores, unless it had been blown a long way off course? “Did the wretch say which port they had sailed from?”

  The sailor drew hard on his wooden pipe. “Newcastle.”

  Wreathed in foul-smelling smoke, Dieter rubbed his fingers against the stubble of his chin, nervous to ask the next question. “Did he say aught of the Danish boat rescuing anyone?”

  The captain sucked on his pipe again and blew out an impressive array of smoke rings. “In his delirium, he raved about a madwoman with a dog jumping into the waves to swim to the longboat.”

  If any woman had the courage to leap into the swells of a raging sea, it was Ragna, and she would never leave her beloved hound behind. Despite the lump in his throat, Dieter asked, “Did he say if this woman reached the longboat?”

  The man hacked up phlegm and spat it out. “He thought a few of his fellow crew made it to the rescue boat, though he pitied those that did.”

  A cold chill settled in Dieter’s spine. He suspected he knew the reason. “Pitied?”

  “It’s well known the Danes have always forced captives into servitude. It’s not likely they’ll be any more humane to those they saved from a watery grave.”

  Dieter thought sadly of his sister-by-marriage. He had only met her once, four years ago after the birth of his daughter, Sophia. Ragna was beautiful, opinionated and stubborn. Blythe had told him the FitzRam family’s nickname for her. Now she was probably in the hands of Vikings. Slavery would destroy a woman of Ragna’s temperament. It was his duty to do something, now convinced that this story of a woman jumping into the sea was Ragna’s tale. He discussed with the seaman the likely places where the cog might have capsized, then hastened off to lay plans with Magnus for a search. Blythe would expect no less.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ragna pushed away the half eaten trencher of fish. She should eat, but her appetite had fled. The men among whom she had lived for two days had maintained their friendly demeanour and made no attempt to force her into any compromising situations. They had erected a crude wooden screen around the spring where the men bathed. The frigid water had left her teeth chattering for a long time afterwards, but she prized cleanliness and appreciated the privacy.

  She had slept in Reider’s bed, but he had remained on the hard floor beside his pallet, never touching her. The strange disappointment she felt at his distance irritated her. Was it because Thor lay on the other side, or did the Viking not want to touch her? She had lain awake, studying his features while he slept.

  He was a handsome man. Male beauty was something she had never given any thought to, though she had known many attractive men. They had left her indifferent. This broad-shouldered Dane stirred unwelcome sensations in strange places.

  Her fingers itched to reach out and trace his proud nose, touch his long blond hair, trail her finger along the thin line of golden curls that began at his bronzed chest and worked its way down. Would the hair feel soft, or wiry? Her thoughts shocked and disturbed her. Agneta FitzRam had made sure her daughters were aware of what took place between a man and his wife in the marriage bed, and had often insisted that they would immediately recognize their true love.

  Were these new feelings the sensations her mother had spoken of? Ragna had dismissed her mother’s beliefs, though her parents had been deeply in love. Blythe had confided she had known the moment she met Dieter that he was her soul mate. Nolana often jested that Aidan had made her go weak in the knees when she first met him, though he was a monk then! But true love was for others, not for Ragna.

  It frustrated her that she knew nothing of this Viking. What was he doing here, living a bare-bones existence, seemingly miles from anywhere? It was obvious from their demeanour and language that he and Kjartan were not simple peasants. Why were there no women? And why had he called her princess? Perhaps she had misunderstood. He had barely been able to talk then.

  His voice, deeper now, scattered her thoughts. “Do you not like hellefisk?”

  Kjartan and Reider’s limited knowledge of English had enabled them to communicate and she had tried a few words of Danish, hoping to please her ancestors.

  She replied, partly in his tongue and partly in her own, nodding her head, but indicating with her spread palms she had eaten enough. “Yes, I like fish, but I am not hungry.” How to explain her discomfort at the icy stares of her fellow survivors, serving food to their new masters?

  She hesitated, then asked, “Why do you eat only fish? Do you not farm, or trade foodstuffs with other communities?”

  Reider looked to Kjartan, then seemed to chose his words carefully. “This is not our home. We live here and survive off the bounty of the sea until we can return to our rightful place.”

  Something passed between the two men, something they were reluctant to tell her. What did he mean, rightful? Was that what he had said? She took a deep breath. “And your women? They are at your home?”

  Again the two men exchanged careful glances. Reider clenched his jaw and bitterness stole into his warm brown eyes. He rose abruptly and stalked out of the hall.

  Her mouth fell open and dismay flooded her heart. She felt her face redden.

  Kjartan put his hand on hers. “Do not be offended. He is not angry with you. We do not know what to expect when we return home.”

  She frowned. “How long have you been away?”

  Kjartan considered his answer. “One month.”

  She was stranded with men who had been without the company of women for a month. She would have to tread warily, but caution had never been her strength.

  Kjartan scratched his forehead. “Ja, we have lived here one month, or maybe a little more. We built this lodge for shelter. Our home is grander than this, but—”

  He looked toward the door through which his friend had left. “We have lost much, Ragna, but the tale is not mine to tell. It is for Reider to tell you, if he wishes.”

  She looked wistfully at the door. “But will he tell me, Kjartan?”

  The Dane shrugged. “He does not trust women. Neither do I.”

  ~~~

  Reider tied and retied the mooring rope, though he knew it to be secure. His innards were in knots. This woman confused him. Her mere presence hardened his pik. He wanted her, but this was a time to give his attention to their plans for regaining his birthright. Since the rescue, he and Kjartan had not discussed their ideas once. After their flight, they had often talked long into the night, recalling the legend of Amleth and how he had avenged his father’s murder. Reider had rejected the notion of feigning witlessness as Amleth had done. Gorm would not be fooled by such a plan.

  Before Ragna’s ar
rival, Reider spent every spare hour sharpening weapons. A well prepared arsenal was essential. He had not been near the forge since her advent.

  He still knew little about her, and why should he want to? Yet he did. His determination to swear off women had lasted one month! Was it because he had not set eyes on a woman in that time? Should he reveal anything of himself to her? He ached to tell her of his father’s death, of Gorm’s treachery and Margit’s betrayal. She must wonder why they lived here in this lonely place. Kjartan would not tell the story. It would be for Reider to do so.

  If he told her, she might think less of him. He had failed to see the treachery brewing in his midst, and it had cost his father’s life. Reider, the great Prince of Strand, brought low by a scheming woman. Now he lay each night on the hard packed earth beside his pallet, his sleepless thoughts full of how to impress the woman in his bed, beneath his furs.

  Why not just take her? Why did her opinion of him matter? He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the smell of the sea. An unexpected noise behind him caused him to whirl around, dagger in hand. Ragna backed away nervously.

  He sheathed his weapon. “I didn’t hear you approach. You should be more careful.”

  She fixed her gaze on the pebbles. “I am sorry.”

  He wanted to reach for her hand, to reassure her, sorry he had alarmed her. She shivered and pulled her fur closer, looking over her shoulder. Did she seek Kjartan?

  She looked back at him. “Fortæl mig.”

  Kjartan must have given her the Danish words. She wanted to hear his story. He shook his head. “Not here.” He pointed to the lodge. “Inside.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Reider ushered Ragna into his alcove, his hand on the small of her back. She teetered on the edge of some precipice from which there would be no return, but could not turn away.

  He brought in two crude wooden stools. “Sit.”

  She obeyed, envisaging her reaction if either of her brothers had spoken to her in the same manner.

  Thor sat on his haunches beside her. Reider straddled the other stool. Water dripped somewhere. Her gaze fixed on his powerful thighs. One leg twitched nervously. He clamped his wind-bronzed hands on his knees, stilling the movement. She dragged her attention to his mouth, startled that he had already started to speak, his brown eyes full of sadness.

  “—dead at my feet.”

  She gulped. What had he said? She stared at him, open-mouthed. “I don’t understand.”

  The twitching began anew. “It is indeed difficult to understand. I gaped in disbelief. My step-brother’s dagger in my father’s back.”

  Her heart went out to him. She knew what it was to lose a beloved parent, but murder? She touched his hand, feeling his warmth. “I am sorry. Your step-brother?”

  Thor lurched forward and licked their joined hands.

  Reider’s jaw clenched, but he patted Thor’s head. “Gorm. He rules in my stead.”

  Rules? What did he mean? She decided to say nothing, hoping he would confide more. She wished fervently that she spoke his language. He seemed hesitant. There was something he did not want to tell her. The distracting leak in the thatch seemed to have worsened. Did they fix the leaks, or just wait until the rain stopped?

  Why was she filled with a desire to know him? Perhaps if she spoke of her parents—but to share her grief with a stranger? She tapped the side of her leg and Thor came to sit beside her again.

  She took a deep breath. “My parents—” She swallowed hard and took her hand from Reider’s. Had she ever spoken of the tragedy to anyone outside her family?

  All she could hear was the incessant dripping of water. Someone needed to stop that leak.

  “My parents drowned together—in the White Ship disaster.”

  Reider shifted his attention to her mouth. “I have heard of this disaster. Hundreds of Anglo-Norman nobles perished in the Narrow Sea.”

  She rocked back and forth on the stool, eyes closed, too distraught to continue. Thor rested his muzzle on her lap, whining.

  Reider reached for her hand and cradled it. “You loved them.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed, hoping to stem the tears. Ragna FitzRam did not cry. But Reider wiped away a tear with his thumb. “I feel your heartbreak.”

  She could no longer hold back the guilt. The sound of the water dripping in the adjoining chamber drummed in her ears. She tore her hand from his and crossed her arms over her breasts. “It should have been me,” she wailed. “I was to board that ship, not them.”

  Reider fell to his knees before her and took hold of her hands. Thor lay down beside her. “You cannot blame yourself for that. I do not know why you were not aboard and they were, but I am sure you did not cause the ship to sink.”

  Relief washed over her. How many times had she told her brother Aidan the same thing years ago? He had come to terms with it, but she knew in that moment that she never had. With a few heartfelt words, this man she barely knew had cleansed her of guilt she had carried for years. She opened her eyes. His were filled with compassion for her in the midst of his own grief. How typical that she would be so immersed in herself that she would ignore the feelings of others. A floodgate broke within her. She took a deep breath. “Tell me of your father.”

  Reider told her tales of his childhood, of growing up the only son of a powerful, loving man, of his father’s second marriage after his mother died, and of his relationship with Gorm, the step-brother who would murder his father. “I never suspected his treachery,” he said softly. Still on his knees, his head had dropped to her lap. She stroked his hair, truly feeling the pain of another for the first time in her life.

  Suddenly, he stiffened and withdrew to his stool, startling Thor. It was like being drenched with ice cold water. “What is it, Reider?”

  He did not meet her gaze. “Nothing. Now you know the story and why we are here, and why we must reclaim our birthright, the kingdom that is rightfully mine.”

  “Kingdom?”

  His voice had lost its resonance. “Strand is a Danish principality. I am my father’s legitimate heir. I must fight for what I have lost. I cannot afford to be distracted.”

  He came to his feet and left abruptly. Thor barked, cocked his head and looked up at his mistress, apparently as confused as she.

  The dripping had ceased.

  ~~~

  Reider cursed himself for turning away from Ragna. She had confided things to him that he suspected she had never shared with anyone, and had not scorned him for his shortcomings as a prince.

  Thanks be to Thor someone had stopped the irritating dripping of water that had played on his nerves while they had talked.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands, digging his nails into the roots of his hair. He was a Prince, but sometimes he wished he was not of noble blood. Perhaps then life would be simpler and he could enjoy Ragna, make her part of his life. But Gorm’s treachery had left him with nothing to offer any woman.

  Ragna would not be content to live her life as the wife of a landless fugitive.

  Wife? Where had that thought come from? Did he trust her enough to marry her? It was probably a moot question. He suspected Ragna would never yield to any man.

  When he had regained his kingdom he would help her continue her journey. He resolved to avoid her as much as possible. There was no future for them together.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ragna saw little of Reider and Kjartan over the next sennight. Her Viking came deep in the night to sleep beside her, but rose each morning before dawn. She knew he had been there. His scent lingered in the disheveled furs and blankets she held to her nose when she straightened them each morning.

  Something was afoot. The crew was restless, working on the boats or in the forge most of the day. The thralls were conscripted to assist with the labour. The stockpile of sharpened swords, axes and daggers grew. Food was provided on the trestle tables each day. Men came in, took their portion and left.

  Her thoughts turned to her
family. Would Dieter search for her, or would he think her lost to the waves when her ship did not arrive in Hamburg? Blythe would be bereft. Her sister had not fully accepted the deaths of their parents. Aidan would blame himself. Guilt had driven him to become a monk after their parents’ deaths.

  But what were the chances of Dieter finding her where Reider’s enemies had not tracked him? What did Reider intend to do with her when he left? She had no doubt they planned to leave, and soon. Would she be abandoned here, alone, with no means of escape? Or would she be taken with them on their quest for justice? Given a choice she would prefer the latter, though it would take her further away from rescue. The possibility of Reider’s leaving and never seeing him again filled her with dread. She saw only glimpses of him during the day, but never stopped thinking about him.

  Her preoccupation and the lack of activity annoyed her. Ragna thrived on action. She sometimes wished she had been made a thrall; at least they had things to do. To alleviate her boredom, she often walked to the water’s edge, looking out to sea, wondering if Dieter searched or if hope had been abandoned.

  One morning she and Thor walked further along the beach than usual, away from the cove. She inhaled the salty smell of the sea, watching the waves rush to shore. She heard the crunch of boots on pebbles and knew it was Reider by the icy heat on the nape of her neck. He stood behind her. She longed to lean back against him and feel his powerful arms wrap around her.

  I could stay in this lonely place forever, if he was with me.