Wild Viking Princess (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 7

Reider took another practice swing with the axe. “Is it that obvious?”

  Kjartan put his hands on his hips. “It pains me to say this, but Ragna has almost restored even my faith in women. She is a rare jewel. Forgive me, my Prince, but you would be a fool to drive her away.”

  ~~~

  Two days later, as the fleet approached Reider’s remote farm, it seemed the gods were not on their side. The waters were choppy and the early morning rain came down in sheets. The dock was small. It had not been used for years and some of the timbers were rotten. One boat holed on the jagged rocks and the men aboard had to swim for shore in the chilly water. Two drowned, weighed down by their armour.

  Each boat in turn disembarked its warriors at the dock, then anchored further out with a skeleton crew. Eventually three hundred tired men were safely landed, soaked to the skin. The sun came out and steam rose off their wet gear as they marched the mile to the farm. Once they had dried their weapons, they would rest until late afternoon then begin the trek to the Great Ringhouse.

  Reider, Kjartan, Dagfinn and his commanders gathered in the tiny farmhouse, welcomed heartily by the tenant farmer and his wife and children.

  Dagfinn chuckled, watching the farmer’s wife bow and scrape as she scurried to provide her unexpected noble guests with refreshment. “They are proud you have chosen their little abode to launch your offensive.”

  “They are good tenants who take care of the land,” Reider murmured, smiling as he too watched the farmer’s five urchins, all miniatures of the very pregnant farmwife. He had never thought much about siring children, but now he felt a yearning to hold a child of his own, Ragna’s child.

  “They have naught good to say about Gorm’s rule,” Kjartan added.

  They reviewed their plans, then settled down to rest. The farmer took his family off to the barn, insisting Reider sleep in his bed. The deer hide curtain provided some privacy to the little niche. He wiped the last of the rain from the lamellar cuirass Dagfinn had given him, stripped it off and flopped onto the pallet. Hands behind his head, he gazed up into the rafters, stretching his legs. The woodsy scent of the cooking fire smouldering in the hearth teased his nostrils.

  No doubt the farmer and his wife made love quietly here so as not to wake their children. His pik stirred at the thought of Ragna. How he wished she was in his arms, here in this simple little house with its sturdy oaken timbers and planked walls, joining with him to make beautiful blonde babies.

  He dozed fitfully for an hour or so, the task ahead weighing heavily on his mind. The clothing that had dried on his body earlier in the day felt stiff and uncomfortable. Impatient, he rose, put his armour back on, then went to find Kjartan. In short order the invading force was ready to begin the trek. At first the terrain was rocky and hilly, but levelled off as they approached the main village.

  ~~~

  Twilight descended as Reider and Dagfinn’s men dug into their hiding places just beyond the outlying ring houses.

  Kjartan returned from scouting the area. “Gorm has no guards in place on this side of the village. He never did think past his nose.”

  Reider shrugged one shoulder, tightening his grip on the handle of his stridsøkse, running his finger lightly over the blade of the axe. “He’ll regret that.”

  There was a sudden commotion. One of Dagfinn’s men appeared, dragging a villager by the scruff of the neck. “We caught this wretch spying on us,” he declared gruffly, throwing the peasant at Reider’s feet.

  The man turned fearful eyes to Reider, then came to his knees. “My lord Reider! Is it you? Praise be to our Lord Jesus Christ that you have come.”

  He touched his fingertips to his forehead and made the Sign of the Crucifixion across his body. “We have prayed for your return. Gorm is an agent of the devil who takes everything and gives nothing in return.”

  He quickly surveyed Reider’s men crouched in the ditch. “You have many warriors to aid you, but be assured the villagers will also come to your aid. We may have only pitchforks and shovels, but we will fight for you. Your cause is righteous.”

  Reider put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What is your name?”

  “Kristian, my prince.”

  Reider extended a hand. “Get off your knees, Kristian. I want you to scout the Great Hall and the dock. Find someone to help you if you wish. Come back with news of how many men we can expect, where Gorm is, anything you deem useful. Be careful. Do not give yourself away.”

  Kristian kissed Reider’s hand, nodded and scrambled away.

  Dagfinn’s man bristled. “How do you know you can trust him? He may sound the alarm.”

  Reider shook his head. “Did you not hear his name and his oath? He is a Christian. Gorm has never embraced that religion and indeed has always done his best to make life difficult for its adherents. Our friend will be glad to see the last of Gorm.”

  Time passed slowly as they waited for Kristian’s return. From the raucous noises that drifted to their ears from the village, it appeared drinking was already well underway in the main Ringhouse that housed the Great Hall. Reider gritted his teeth and stood to shake out the cramped muscles in his legs. Last time he had been in the Great Hall—

  Kristian slid into the ditch, panting hard, wild-eyed. “The Usurper is not in the Great Hall. Roar Knutsen and the rest of the survivors of the rout at Husembro are there, drinking heavily and wenching.”

  Reider held up his hand, a chill marching up his spine. “Rout at Husembro?”

  Kristian’s head bobbed up and down with excitement. “Gorm sent a raiding force to attack you in Husembro, but they were routed by a large force of men. Few returned, many of them wounded.”

  A large force of men? Who had been at Husembro? Had some other wandering band of marauders taken Husembro and defended it against Gorm’s men? He pressed his fingertips to his forehead. If anything had happened to Ragna—

  Kjartan’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What of the dock?”

  “Just a few men, but they too have imbibed a quantity of ale.”

  Reider gripped his axe. “And Margit? Did she and Gorm marry?”

  Kristian snorted and crossed himself again. “Nej! Gorm’s fair consort is not in the Great Hall either. The two are rarely together. She looks at him with murder in her eyes.”

  Reider put his hand on Kristian’s shoulder. “I owe you a great debt, Kristian. We will do all we can to restore justice to our homeland. Go now. Prepare your neighbours.”

  Kristian nodded and slipped away.

  Reider turned to Kjartan and Dagfinn’s man. “Pass the word. We will allow Kristian time to marshal the villagers. Watch for my signal to advance.”

  Reider stared at the moon, his thoughts still on Ragna. Was Màni watching over her as he made his way across the night sky? When the silver orb had moved what he judged to be a sufficient distance, Reider gave the signal and the invaders advanced through the village. Men armed with pitchforks, shovels, and scythes stole silently out of the small ringhouses and formed a rear guard.

  To a man, the army paused, weapons raised, for Dagfinn to invoke Thor’s blessings before he dispatched a contingent to the dock. The main body rushed to the Great Hall, weapons in hand, every man echoing Reider’s hoarse battle cry.

  “For Strand.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Fear gnawed at Gorm as he paced his chamber. Where was Reider? He had been confident that the raiding party he sent to Husembro would locate and kill his rival. Wherever his hated step-brother was, Gorm did not doubt he plotted revenge and must be disposed of before he convinced Dagfinn Alfredsen to join the conflict.

  Thanks to Kjartan Eldarsen, Strand’s legitimate heir had escaped. Gorm’s inept henchmen had been incapable of carrying out an assassination. He had taken care of Torfinn, but his men had let Reider slip through their fingers. Margit had harangued him incessantly about it. The woman had such a bloodlust. It sickened him. He dared not fall asleep in her presence. How could he have believed her
avowals of undying love? She had used him.

  Loud shouts interrupted his thoughts. He threw open the door and strode into the hallway. Sounds of conflict reached his ears from the Great Hall, yet there had been no alarm sounded from the docks. He gripped the hilt of his dagger and commanded his guards to accompany him.

  When he reached the Hall, his question was finally answered. Reider, armed with a stridsøkse, fought with Roar Knutsen. The older man was flagging under the onslaught of Reider’s axe. Gorm thought to turn and run. But to where? If Reider had not attacked by sea, he had come overland—no chance of escape there. Gorm had not foreseen the necessity of protecting his flank.

  Dagfinn had indeed come to the aid of his old ally, bringing a large force with him. Gorm espied Kjartan Eldarsen retrieving a dagger from the body at his feet. Frustration choked him. Here was the source of many of his problems. He drew his own blade and rushed towards the man who had foiled his plans. Kjartan turned to face him and smirked, infuriating Gorm.

  Suddenly, Reider was beside Kjartan. “He is mine, old friend.”

  Gorm swiveled his head. Roar’s bloodied body lay slumped against the wall. Reider was a formidable force with an axe, but Gorm would hold the advantage if he rattled his step-brother’s temper, set him on edge. He returned his glare to Reider. “So, brother, it comes down to you and me.”

  To his dismay, Reider remained calm. “You are no brother of mine, Gorm. Do you intend to fight me alone, or will you need your guards to help you?”

  Irritated, Gorm waved off his henchmen who were soon fending off other attackers. Reider and Gorm circled warily, assessing each other’s weaknesses. Gorm wished he had thought to grab his axe.

  ~~~

  Margit heard the commotion in the Great Hall. Reider had come and would seek to kill her. Dread filled her heart, but the conflict drew her like a moth to the flame. She crept into the Hall and pressed close to the rough wooden wall. Keeping to the shadows, she grasped the stolen dagger firmly behind her back. If she had to die on this godforsaken island, she would not die alone.

  Reider’s invading force had overwhelmed Gorm’s men. Margit was not surprised, especially when she caught sight of a man she did not recognize, though from his bearing she knew he must be Dagfinn Alfredsen.

  Kjartan Eldarsen and another man held everyone at bay as they watched Gorm and Reider engage in a battle to the death. She grunted involuntarily. Gorm had already slashed Reider’s forearm.

  The two warriors grappled. Reider held firm to the wrist of Gorm’s dagger hand. Gorm’s free hand was clamped over Reider’s on the handle of the axe. Reider twisted his leg around Gorm’s and her lover fell to the planked floor, but he rolled to his feet, dagger still in hand. Sweat poured from his furrowed brow. The crown had slipped sideways over his ear. Growling, he pushed it back. Margit could smell his fear.

  Reider took a swipe with his axe, narrowly missing his step-brother’s head. Gorm thrust with his dagger, but Reider stepped back nimbly.

  To Margit’s eyes, Reider looked different, more mature, calmer, though he faced a skilled warrior in Gorm. It would complicate matters, but she hoped Reider would triumph. He was the better man. She had grown to hate Gorm. He was weak.

  Reider never took his eyes off Gorm’s. He had the look of a man confident of victory. He elbowed his opponent hard in the ribs, knocking him off balance. Gorm staggered to his knees, but recovered quickly.

  The two men circled again. Gorm lunged, but Reider stepped aside and Gorm stumbled forward. Reider whirled and struck his step-brother on the back of the head with the heel of his axe. Gorm yelped in pain, but remained on his feet, swaying slightly. He glared at Reider and spat.

  Reider licked his thumb and drew it down the blade of his axe, a glint in his eye. Gorm hunched his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The ill-fitting crown fell to the floor and rolled to rest at Reider’s feet.

  Reider smiled. Desire coiled in Margit’s core. What a fool she had been. She tightened her grip on the dagger. Might there be a way to save herself? She lunged forward out of the shadows and buried the weapon to the hilt in Gorm’s back. Blood spurted from his mouth and he fell like a giant tree hewn by the woodcutters, dead at Reider’s feet.

  ~~~

  Reider stared in bewilderment at the dagger in Gorm’s back, incensed the traitor had not died at his hand. Had Margit truly killed him? Did the treachery of this woman know no bounds? The look of wide-eyed disbelief on Gorm’s face brought to mind how astonished Reider must have looked the night of the massacre. But the most difficult thing to comprehend was how Ragna’s dagger came to be lodged in Gorm’s back. Reider’s heart lurched. Ragna would not have parted with the dagger willingly.

  Kjartan grabbed Margit and pulled her away, kicking and screaming. Reider drew the dagger from Gorm’s body, wiped it on his step-brother’s tunic and examined it carefully. Kjartan gave the screeching Margit over to two comrades and strode to Reider’s side. “Is it Ragna’s?”

  Reider shook his head, the cold certainty seeping into his belly that he had left Ragna vulnerable at Husembro. Was she dead? Loss and loneliness swept over him. “Can it be your cousin’s?”

  Kjartan examined the hilt carefully. “Nej, it’s Ragna’s.”

  Reider walked over to Margit, determined to hold on to his temper, despite the dread rising in his throat. What role had this treacherous bitch played in Ragna’s demise? He brandished the dagger under her nose. “Where did you get this?”

  She struggled to be free of the grip of his comrades. “Reider, forgive me. I was a fool. It is you I love.”

  He tucked Ragna’s precious possession into his belt and fisted his hands, resisting the urge to strike Margit across the face. This creature knew nothing of love. “What have you done with the woman the dagger belongs to?”

  ~~~

  Recognition of the truth dawned. Now Margit understood the new Reider. He loved another—the blonde woman from whom Roar had stolen the dagger. She shoved her hair back out of her eyes and folded her arms across her breasts. Her belly burned. “She is safe.”

  Reider took hold of her shoulders and shook her. “Where is she?”

  Margit gritted her teeth. “Instruct these fools to release me and I will tell you.”

  Reider nodded to the men. Margit rubbed her upper arms and looked coyly at Reider. “The woman you seek will be released, unharmed—on one condition.”

  Reider scoffed. “You are in no position to bargain, Margit.”

  Margit laughed. The fire had spread to her chest. “Oh, but I am. What is this woman to you, Reider? You seem concerned. Her life is in my hands. One word from me—”

  Reider glared at her. “You sicken me, Margit. What is it you want?”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “To be your wife.”

  Reider’s mouth fell open and he looked at her with such hatred she feared he might kill her on the spot. Would her gamble pay off?

  Reider pointed to Gorm’s body. “Any man married to you would never sleep, Margit. You might stab him in the back.”

  She sidled up to him, putting her hand on his arm. “I would never dream of killing a man who kept me satisfied. You can be that man.”

  He cringed and pulled away. “Take this woman to a cell. Be careful with her. She is dangerous and cunning.”

  Margit grasped his arm again. “Surely you will not imprison your betrothed?”

  He shrugged her off. “Take her.”

  She remained defiant as they dragged her away. “Remember, one word from me—”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Her unease growing, Ragna sat on a flat rock near the docks and watched Captain Ivar’s men prepare the knarr for the return journey to Hamburg. Thor’s muzzle rested on her knee. She stroked the loyal dog’s back dispiritedly. The other survivors were in high spirits, looking forward to getting back to their lives before the shipwreck. Dieter was buoyant, obviously relieved to be taking Blythe’s sister to s
afety.

  Why did she feel bereft? She had lost the treasured dagger, for which she would never forgive herself. But something else tugged at her. She looked over to the Danish longboats where Reider’s comrades were loading their own provisions in preparation for the voyage home. They planned to follow Reider to the principality of their ally and hopefully from there to Strand. If Reider’s attack had been unsuccessful, they would do what they could. If it had succeeded, they would be happy to return to the only home they had known.

  Had Reider regained his rightful place as ruler of his people? Did he ever think of her?

  What ailed her? A boat stood ready to deliver her to her anxious sister. She would be free, safe in the hands of a skilled captain and a worthy brother-by-marriage. Yet she could not be rid of the conviction that she should be going in the other direction—to Strand. Reider needed her.

  It was folly. He had uttered no words of love, had asserted there was no room in his heart for love. They had exchanged headbands—what kind of love token was that?

  Love? Did she love this exiled Viking prince? Was she meant to be his princess? She took off the braided headband and inhaled the scent of his maleness and the salty smell of the sea. She caressed the inside with the pad of her thumb.

  Dieter strode up from the shore, beaming, holding out his hand. “Are you ready?”

  She rubbed Thor’s ears, came to her feet and took a deep breath. “I cannot go with you, Dieter. I’m sorry.”

  He stopped abruptly, his grin turning to a frown. “I do not understand. You want to remain here?”

  She took hold of his hands, but looked at her feet. “No, Dieter. I must go to Reider’s aid.”

  He squeezed her hands and smiled. “Ah! Now I understand! The Viking princess is in love.”

  She glared at him, annoyed at his jest, but he was serious. “I cannot explain it, Dieter, and it makes me angry to admit it, but I must go to him.”

  Dieter put his arm around her shoulder. “You have always charted a bolder course, Ragna. You do not need to explain it to me. I am the man who kidnapped your sister more or less by mistake, then refused to give her up. I knew she was meant to be mine, and look at us now! Married ten years, with three children, four if you count my son by my first marriage.”