Return of the Viking Warrior Read online

  A new start. A new chapter to ensure that Rurik grew up without fear. Jaarlshiem had been without a strong warrior at its helm for far too long. Ash Hringson belonged to the unremembered past and the girl she had once been. If she had been the one to die instead, her ashes would have barely been scattered on the tuntreet’s roots before Ash found another to warm his bed.

  ‘What has Rurik been up to?’ Auda gave an indulgent smile. ‘Surely he learnt his lesson after being caught out in that thunderstorm with a horse he could barely control.’

  ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’ Kara held up her hand. ‘But he worships Valdar. I hope he will be a calming influence.’

  She refused to think about the narrow escapes her six-year-old son specialised in recently. The incident with the horse had been enough, but he had taken to defying her at every opportunity. Leaving him with Gudrun, Ash’s old nurse, had seemed like the best option. Gudrun was used to such behaviour. She often proclaimed how like his father Rurik was, particularly around his ears and nose.

  Ash’s many scrapes were the stuff of legend. They first met because he had fallen while trying to recapture his falcon. The falcon suffered a hurt wing and Ash had brought the falcon to her mother rather than wringing its neck as his father had advised.

  Her mother’s skill as a healer had been second to none and it had been the first time Kara had been allowed to bind up a bird’s wing while her mother had attended to Ash’s twisted ankle. Five months later her mother had died in an accident. Ash had spoken to Kara during the funeral, taking the time to discover her hiding place behind the iron trunk and bring her a sweetmeat. Instant adoration had followed and when he’d asked her to marry him, all of her girlish dreams had come true.

  Until it was too late, she had never considered that he might not feel the same way about her. Foolishly she’d failed to realise her hero was a selfish man, not a god.

  A sudden shiver coursed down her back. Rurik might look like Ash, but she was the one raising him. She refused to make the mistake Ash’s father had with Ash—spoiling him when he showed prowess at being a warrior or did something which pleased him and abandoning him to his fate if the challenge proved impossible.

  ‘Kara, you’ve become very quiet.’

  ‘I’m always quiet, Auda.’

  ‘Only when people don’t know you or if you are upset. When you are comfortable, you talk all the time.’

  ‘I’m trying to get my eyeliner right. Why I have to wear it is beyond me.’

  ‘A bride needs to make sure she is well painted. Everyone knows that. You don’t want to risk Freya’s displeasure. You do want the goddess’s blessing for this union?’ Auda started chattering like a magpie about various weddings and how the recent brides had looked and whether or not Freya had been pleased. ‘You’ve smudged it. Start again and keep to the corner of your eye, rather than trying to draw a line under it.’

  Kara picked up the small brush and started again. This time, she was going to be a bride to be admired, rather than laughed at or pitied. She shuddered, remembering how the liner had run down her cheeks at the last wedding. Ash had cleaned it off with his handkerchief with an indulgent smile.

  Auda held out the gleaming crown. It was even more ghastly than Kara remembered. The last time, she had worn it with such pride, thinking Ash would want her to look radiant. But she’d heard the whispers and catcalls of ‘witch’s child’ which had followed her progress.

  ‘You do agree, Kara?’

  Kara started and realised she was expected to say something. ‘I missed that, Auda.’

  ‘I merely said that the women will now have several more things to envy you for—a gorgeous bridal crown and a handsome warrior in your bed.’

  ‘How could anyone envy me?’ Kara forced a laugh. The thought of sharing a bed with Valdar left her cold. She’d do her duty, but ever since she had learnt of the truth about her marriage with Ash, she had felt entombed in ice. Despite his looks, Valdar’s kisses chilled her. Even the simplest touch from Ash had been enough to send her up in flames during that long-ago spring.

  ‘You’d be surprised. There are rumours about Valdar’s exceptional good fortune in bed. Many have hoped to capture him, but thus far he has only wanted one woman for his wife—you.’

  ‘The rumours failed to reach Jaarlshiem.’ Kara kept her back stiff. She knew Valdar could have had his pick of the women, but he’d chosen her. His many proposals had emphasised his growing friendship with Rurik, the nearness of their estates and the compatibility of their natures rather than her golden hair or the curves in her bottom lip as Ash’s had done. ‘The bedsport will be what it is.’

  ‘You should see your face, Kara. Redder than a beetroot. Anyone would think you a maid of sixteen rather than a widow.’ Auda tapped a finger against the crown. ‘Is the bedsport with Valdar not to your liking? Surely you sampled him before you agreed to this match.’

  ‘Auda, stop teasing. When would I have had time to enjoy Valdar? I am a mother and I run Jaarlshiem. Valdar and I have barely had an hour alone since the match was agreed.’ Kara reached for the crown and jammed it on her head.

  Her doing, not his. It hadn’t felt right dishonouring Ash in that way. Once the ceremony was over and she no longer belonged in any way to Ash, everything would be different.

  Seeing her friend’s increasingly troubled expression, Kara relented. ‘I just want this ceremony over and done with. The whole day, in fact.’

  ‘You look exquisite, you know that, Kara.’ Auda laid a gentle hand on Kara’s shoulder. ‘Anyone looking at you now will understand why one of the finest warriors in the land chose you for his bride and why he laid his heart at your feet. All you have to do is see the way his face lights up when he spies you.’

  ‘Sweet Auda.’ Kara gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘But I do know my limitations. Shall we get this ceremony over with? Before Valdar realises the sort of woman he is marrying and changes his mind?’

  ‘He won’t. Once my brother-in-law has made up his mind, he stays the course. He is exceedingly stubborn.’

  ‘Steadfast, I know. You’ve said.’ Kara gave one last despairing look in the small mirror. She repeated the words she had taken to saying over the past few weeks. ‘And precisely the right man for me. Seven years married and six of them a widow. I deserve a man in my life.’

  ‘That’s the Kara I know and love.’

  Balancing the awkward crown on her head, Kara trod a careful path to the temple. At the entrance to the temple’s grounds, she froze.

  The temple overflowed with people, so many that they filled the courtyard. A great cheer and stamping of feet rose up when someone viewed her.

  Kara fought the temptation to flee. She hadn’t realised there were this many people in Raumerike, let alone in the capital. Suddenly, this wedding felt wrong, as though she was making the biggest mistake of her life. A marriage should be more than simple practicality—her mother’s long-ago words welled up within her.

  She firmed her mouth. Her biggest mistake had been marrying Ash in a haze of romantic dreams. This marriage promised to be different, based on mutual respect. No one was marrying under false pretences.

  Towards the middle of the temple she saw Harald Haraldson, Ash’s uncle, sitting like a spider in the middle of his web, and knew why this marriage had to be so public. His very being radiated hatred and smug arrogance. Only she and Rurik stood in the way of his inheriting all that her father-in-law had acquired. The Raumerike inheritance laws were quite clear—if a man died without an heir, the estate passed first to his mother, next to her husband and only then to the remaining relatives. And a jaarldom could only be confirmed when the warrior proved worthy.

  He noticed her glance and his lips turned up into a humourless smile, the sort of smile a hunter gives before he brings down his hapless prey. A shiver went down
her spine.

  She’d fought so long and hard for Rurik’s life when he was a baby that she wasn’t about to stop now. And she wasn’t about to be forced into a marriage where first Rurik’s life and then her own would be forfeit. Valdar would protect them with his dying breath.

  She’d endure this ceremony, knowing she’d be back in Jaarlshiem in a few days. She had promised Rurik that she’d bring him a new father.

  The last few steps to where Valdar was standing were far easier than the first ones. Auda was right. He did look every inch the handsome warrior, a formidable opponent for any foe. In time she would welcome him in her bed. She could play her part in bedsport.

  How hard could it be to pretend passion? Other people did. Ash had done it with her and she’d been fool enough not to notice.

  Kara held out her hand and Valdar lightly grasped her fingers. The simple touch did much to calm her nerves.

  The priest began to invoke the gods, calling on Freya, Odin and Var to witness the union.

  This marriage would be a better marriage than her last one, she silently promised. She would be a good wife to a good man.

  The priest asked if anyone knew of an objection why the gods would not look on this union with favour. He paused dramatically.

  Wriggling her shoulders, Kara tried to remove the sudden sense of impending doom.

  She nodded to the priest to hurry him up and get this ordeal over with. He cleared his throat and lifted his hand.

  ‘I object! This woman is not free to marry! This ceremony must stop!’ a voice thundered from the back of the temple.

  The priest’s hand halted. Kara forgot how to breathe. Ash! Ash’s voice from beyond the grave?

  Impossible! Ash was dead. Buried in a watery grave. Someone else had called out and it was a trick of the temple’s walls. Sudden anger filled her. Who dared disrupt and dishonour this marriage? She would make them pay for it.

  ‘Stop the ceremony now! Listen to my words. This woman is not free.’

  Valdar gave her a questioning glance. Kara forced a tiny shrug as her head began to pound. A distraction, nothing more. She belonged to no man. But whoever had planned this knew her weak spot.

  She placed a hand on her stomach. She had to stop hearing ghosts. This objection had no merit. False and unfounded. But logically it would have to be heard.

  Giving in to her temper seldom solved anything. In fact, it often made things worse. Over the past few years, she’d learnt the value of appearing calm and collected even if her insides were churning.

  A little delay now would save a lifetime of innuendo and false rumour. Clinging to that thought, she attempted to breathe.

  ‘Make your objection known,’ the priest intoned. ‘Show your proof. This woman claims to be free.’

  The crowds parted and the speaker came forward, walking with a distinct limp. His fine cloak swung about his body, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and trim line of his waist. The deep blue colour set off his reddish-gold hair perfectly. There was something in the way he moved. Her stomach roiled as the scent of incense grew overpowering.

  Kara shook her head, wished the crown was lighter and that the priest in the corner would stop waving his brazier about.

  What her eyes saw was impossible. She dug her nails into her palm. Impossible.

  The dead could not walk on this earth and Ash was dead. The ship had gone down without any survivors.

  Ash’s uncle had brought back the intricately carved sternpost from Ash’s ship, charred from a fire, and laid it at her father-in-law’s feet. The day was etched on her brain. Her father-in-law had made a dreadful noise and collapsed in a heap. She had had to nurse him back to health along with Rurik, who had been suffering from one of his dreadful colds. There hadn’t been time to breathe, let alone grieve for the man whom she’d once made her whole world.

  For a few days, both her father-in-law’s and Rurik’s lives had hung in the balance while Ash’s uncle had strutted about the hall, issuing orders and proclaiming how the hall would be his. Finally she had ordered him out and he’d gone with bad grace, promising his vengeance.

  Was this some ghastly dream and she’d wake up in her bed with Rurik slumbering close by? She knew she was awake from the growing pain in her head and the nausea in her belly.

  A conjurer’s trick? An apparition?

  An insistent whisper went around the hall, growing in strength. Ash. Against all reason and expectation, it had to be. But utterly impossible. It had to be a trick, a way of sowing dissent and preventing the marriage. Harald Haraldson had to be behind it. She refused to allow this pathetic outrage to happen. This time Harald Haraldson had overreached. He would regret it when she was finished with him, but first she needed to be married with a warrior who’d defend her land.

  Kara shut her eyes tight and opened them again. The man stood in the centre of the hall, no more than a few feet away from her. Broad shouldered and red-gold hair. His clothes were finely cut and of Viken rather than Raumerike origin.

  The man raised his arms. Kara attempted to peer through the heavy smoke and see his face. A number of emotions raced through her—fear, anger and a wild sense of hope—but mostly she felt as if she were watching the events unfold from far away.

  ‘Hear me, good people, and listen well. Kara Olofdottar is my wife.’ He turned to face the room. ‘I dare any man to deny it. I have a prior claim over her and I will enforce my claim with my sword if necessary. I, Ash Hringson, claim Kara Olofdottar as my lawful wife!’

  Chapter Two

  The stranger’s words bounced off the temple walls, echoing round and round. The entire hall ceased to breathe, waiting for her reaction. Kara knew she had to do something, make some sort of defiant gesture, but her entire being was paralysed with shock.

  She stared at the man with his fine clothes and burnished red-gold hair, searching for a sign that the words were true, that he was indeed who he claimed to be, that it wasn’t some sort of twisted trick from Harald Haraldson. Yet she knew it must be.

  Anything else was utterly impossible. Ash had drowned. The entirety of Raumerike knew of the tragedy. The lament her father-in-law had commissioned about his only son’s tragic end was sung every year on the anniversary of his death.

  She glanced at Valdar under her lashes. The big warrior stood stony-faced, his eyes trained on the priest’s face. The knots in her stomach tightened. She had thought Valdar would understand immediately what was happening and leap to her defence. But, no, once again, she’d have to fight alone. Luckily she knew how to.

  ‘You believe you have a prior claim to this woman?’ the priest asked with heavy scepticism in his voice.

  ‘I know I do,’ the man replied evenly. ‘Under Raumerike law, any claim must be investigated before a wedding proceeds further. Or does Raumerike law allow a woman two husbands these days?’

  ‘It shall be investigated if the claim is made properly and with due reverence,’ the priest countered. ‘Approach and let your face be seen. The light is in my eyes. All men should look on your face as you make your claim.’

  Valdar gave Kara’s hand a squeeze, but moved away from her as if she had the plague. Silently she vowed that Harald Haraldson would suffer a slow and prolonged revenge for this shabby trick.

  ‘Are you deaf? Let me see who you are,’ the priest called when the man failed to move.

  ‘Kara Olofdottar appears faint. I ask we go elsewhere and discuss this matter in private,’ the man said. ‘She fainted on our wedding day, you know. I caught her before she collapsed. The incense makes her head swim.’

  Either this man was the consummate actor or... A small shiver of uncertainty combined with another flickering of wild exhilaration stabbed her, banishing her scepticism.

  The more she heard the man speak, the more his voice rang of Ash. Kar
a clenched her fist. Logic, not unfounded speculation. She was becoming as fanciful as Rurik, who kept insisting that the sagas were real, rather than simply stories told about a fire to amuse. And she never fainted these days.

  ‘It is the Raumerike way to conduct such matters in public,’ the priest said.

  ‘I merely thought to spare her the embarrassment,’ he continued, seemingly unperturbed by the hundreds of eyes turned on him. ‘My wife hates crowds. A husband knows these things.’

  Kara gritted her teeth and clung to that small logical part of her which still functioned. The deception would be revealed soon enough. No one could carry it off for any length of time. All she had to do was to keep silent, wait for the inevitable mistake and allow others to take charge. She clamped her mouth shut.

  ‘I must caution you,’ the priest said. ‘Kara Olofdottar’s husband died many years ago on a sea voyage. This fact is well known in this land.’

  ‘Ash Hringson. Son of Hring the Bold and Nauma,’ the man stated in a firm voice. He thrust his hands forward and the cuffs of his tunic fell back, revealing his scarred wrists. On his right wrist he sported a purple birthmark in the shape of a coiled snake. ‘I’m very much alive. Reports of my death were at best mistaken and at worst a shameful lie.’

  A variety of emotions rippled through Kara—shock at his survival, bewilderment at the length of time it had taken to get news to her, a deep-seated anger that it had taken this humiliating scene to reveal the truth, but most of all a wild exhilaration that he was alive, that they’d have a second chance. Her son would have his proper father.

  Her breath stopped. Accepting this man’s claim of being Ash went beyond simply taking his word for it and her knowing it in her heart. Twelve members of Raumerike’s Storting would have to declare for him and stake their honour on it. The penalty for attempting to deceive the Storting was either death or permanent banishment.