The Viking’s Captive Princess Read online

  ‘We are in agreement on the true culprit, Thyre. Right now, I would happily tear you limb from limb.’

  ‘I should like to see you try.’

  Ivar looked away first. ‘You have no idea what you have done. How much trouble you could have caused, had my entire being not been alert to you. But in the end, the only thing you have done is to delay the felag and to delay the possibility of justice for your stepfather. You will have to live with that knowledge.’ He raised his hand to give the signal to turn the boat around.

  ‘No.’ Thyre leapt up and grabbed his arm. ‘No, you will not do that.’

  Ivar’s face contorted, making his scar stand out vividly from his cheek, but he stood absolutely rigid.

  Quietly Thyre forced her fingers to release his arm. She took a half-step backwards. Her thighs met the edge of the boat.

  ‘How dare you say no! You will do as I say!’ he grounded out in a voice that struck her like a lash. ‘You have no right to be here.’

  ‘I earned the right to be on this felag!’ Her heart thudded in her ears.

  ‘And when did you earn this right?’ His gaze raked her form. ‘When did you become a man?’

  ‘When I killed Sigmund Sigmundson, I earned that right. When I sacrificed my apron dress, so that the mast remained in one piece and the ship could sail safely back to Kaupang, again I earned the right!’ Thyre made her voice carry to every part of the ship. With each word, she knew more men listened to her. If she could convince them, then Ivar would have to give way. She refused to allow him to travel without her. ‘Every man on this boat owes me a life-debt, including you, Ivar Gunnarson. Would you deny that debt?’

  All about her, she heard the men begin to murmur. It was like the ebb of a tide, first a trickle and then a flood. They supported her. She risked a breath. Triumph coursed through her.

  ‘Thyre, you are my wife.’ Ivar slammed his fist against the side of the ship. ‘You must listen to reason.’

  ‘Being your wife has nothing to do with it!’ Thyre glared at him. ‘Being your wife does not change my right.’

  ‘It changes my responsibilities towards you.’

  ‘I want to be on this felag, Ivar,’ she said quietly. ‘I deserve to be here. I deserve to see this through to the end. You are going to save my family.’

  ‘Thyre should stay!’ one of the men called out. ‘She has brought good luck. The gods favour her.’

  Others shouted agreement, but Ivar’s scowl increased.

  ‘You are asking them to do something that is improbable, Ivar—are you going to take away hope?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘I am giving you one last chance, Thyre.’ His voice became chipped from ice. ‘You stop this mutiny before it happens. We turn around and you return to Kaupang, quietly and obediently as a wife should. You stay at court until I return. You will be good and obedient to Asa and Thorkell. You will make me proud of you.’

  ‘One last chance to slowly die?’ Thyre said. ‘Asa’s court is stifling me, killing my spirit. I can never live there. Do you want to return to another dead wife?’

  ‘That remark is beneath you.’

  ‘But it is true.’ Thyre crossed her arms and refused to look away. ‘You speak of honour, but what about my honour? Women can have just as much honour as men.’

  For a long moment their eyes warred. Then he looked away, up towards where the swell hit the boat. No one spoke or moved. Far away, the shouts from the other boats echoed across the water.

  ‘Do you seek to challenge for the leadership? I have no wish to fight you with a sword, Thyre.’

  ‘No, I only seek what is my right.’ Thyre used all her energy and kept her head upright. ‘I ask you on the life-debt you owe me and on your honour as a warrior.’

  Ivar stood there, his hand clasped around the hilt of his sword, his face thunderous.

  ‘Very well, you may stay. Far be it from me to deny a life-debt.’ He inclined his head. ‘You may join the felag as I will honour my life-debt.’

  A ragged cry rang out across the ship. Thyre felt the tension ease from her shoulders. She had won. Then she stopped and stiffened her spine. It was too easy. Ivar had capitulated far too quickly.

  ‘Thank you, Ivar. You will have no cause to regret me joining the felag.’

  Ivar’s smile became colder than a glacier. ‘You did not let me finish. You may stay with the felag until Ragnfast’s steading. There you stay, and Ragnfast will get the dubious honour of looking after you.’

  ‘I had thought that I might be able to persuade my uncle King Mysing.’

  ‘Persuade? Thyre, he banished your mother. Why would he listen to you?’

  ‘He listened to my mother. I can remember the rune sticks he sent—’

  ‘The affairs of state are no place for an untried woman.’ Ivar’s nostrils flared. ‘You may go to Ragnfast’s or not at all.’

  Thyre pressed her lips together. It was better than nothing. She wanted Ivar to understand that she could help, but he didn’t. To think she had even begun to hope that he might be the man of her dreams, a man ready to listen to her and to respect her. The dream tasted like ash in her mouth.

  ‘And afterwards…when you return from seeing the king?’ Thyre whispered, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. Once, she had longed for this, but now she feared it.

  ‘You show little desire to return to Kaupang. Far be it from me to force you to go against your honour.’

  Thyre kept her head up as a great empty place welled up within her. Their brief marriage was over, but in many ways it had never begun. He was asking her to choose between her duty to her family and her feelings for him. ‘Thank you for understanding, Ivar Gunnarson. You will have no cause to regret our bargain.’

  Ivar turned away from her and then stopped. He swung back with a calculating smile. ‘One more thing, Thyre, Thorkell’s daughter, your actions have cost me an experienced oarsman.’

  ‘It was necessary. Asger and I agreed.’

  ‘You will have to take his place.’

  ‘Take his place?’ Thyre regarded the hated oar. Her right palm ached at the mere thought of more rowing.

  Ivar’s smile held a certain amount of smug satisfaction. ‘I expect you to pull at the oars. Every member of a felag works. In fact, the newest members always work the hardest.’

  ‘I…I…’ Thyre reached forwards and grabbed the oar, wincing as pain shot up her arm. ‘I understand.’

  ‘This is no pleasure outing, Thyre. Neither is this a trading vessel with sails. This is a dragon ship and I intend to get to Ragnfast as quickly as possible.’

  Thyre watched the gleam in his eye increase. He expected her to give in. She straightened her back, and ignored the ache in her arms and legs. ‘I have no problems with rowing. I had expected to row. It is a price worth paying.’

  ‘I wonder if you truly know the price you will have to pay.’ He turned, calling on the oarsmen to redouble their efforts.

  After two days of relentlessly pulling at the oars, Thyre had ceased to remember what it felt like not to have arms and legs screaming at her. After four days, her rhythm had improved and she began to enjoy the movement and the freedom of being outside. During her shifts, Ivar kept the sail tightly furled, forcing the ship to move through oar power alone. But she never complained and never allowed any of them to see her distress.

  Each time her shift was over, she stumbled from the oar and lay down, using the cloak to cover her, and fell into a dreamless sleep. When she woke, the cloak was tucked tightly around her as if someone had made sure she was looked after. Ivar? She rejected the thought. He was determined not to lift one finger to help her. It had to have been someone else. However, her heart persisted in hoping.

  Unexpectedly, she had cause to bless Asa. The ointment she had sent eased the ache in her hands, keeping the worst of the blisters at bay. As she rubbed it on her hands, she wondered if Asa knew how valuable the gift was. She found it impossible to rid her suspicion that both Asa and Th
orkell had known about her plans and approved. And her respect for them grew.

  Once they reached the steading and Ivar had departed, Thyre hoped the ache in her heart would ease as she became immersed in the normal routine of her work. In time, life would become easier and she might only remember Ivar in her dreams. But for now, every particle of her being was aware of him.

  ‘Bay to the left. Pull hard on the oars!’ Ivar’s voice echoed throughout the boat.

  Thyre braced her feet and pulled with all her might, proud that she could keep a tempo with the others. Slowly the boat turned and she saw the familiar rocks and shoreline. Not just any bay, but her bay.

  She redoubled her efforts, concentrating on pulling her shoulder blades together. Each stroke was closer to the time when she would see Ragnfast and Dagmar. Each stroke was closer to the time when she could pick up the threads of her old life. A great weight bore down on her, making it harder to pull the oar. Each stroke took her closer to goodbye.

  A firm hand clasped her shoulder. Heat shot through her body. ‘Thyre, whatever happens, remember you are a member of the felag. Until you are dismissed, you owe the felag your loyalty.’

  ‘How could I forget?’ Thyre frowned. There was something in Ivar’s eyes and the way he held his body, shielding her from viewing the shoreline. ‘I gave you my word. I have kept my word. How can you doubt me now?’

  ‘And remember, you can count on our support. You have shown great courage with your rowing. You have done as much as any man. You have proved me wrong. A woman can have the heart of a man. However—’

  ‘What are you saying, Ivar? What have you seen? Ragnfast will greet you with hospitality as long as your shields remain hung on the side.’ Thyre’s throat closed around a tight hard lump. Her insides knotted and re-knotted but he remained silent, blocking her vision. ‘Tell me now. You must have seen something. What has happened? Are there dragon ships here? Tell me the worst! Show me!’

  He turned so his face was in shadow. ‘Look now!’

  Thyre swivelled so she could see where Ivar was pointing. The gables of the main hall should have been clearly visible, but nothing was there. In the sky a faint black curl of smoke rose. She screwed up her eyes and opened them again, squinting against the sun. Perhaps she had made a mistake. Perhaps this was not the right place. She scanned the horizon, left, right, and back again. It couldn’t be. The hall with its weatherbeaten gables had to be standing. She took a steadying breath. It had to be. But in front of her, only a blackened pile of ash and timber smouldered. ‘Ivar…’

  The ship erupted into pandemonium as Ivar bellowed across the water towards the other ships to prepare. Within a few breaths, shields had been raised and weapons drawn. Thyre froze, unable to remember if she pushed with her feet before she pulled back with her arms. She attempted to push it and the oar swung wildly, crashing into the one in front of her.

  ‘Thyre, keep your hands on your oar and pull!’ Ivar’s bellow broke through her panic, calmed her.

  ‘I am trying.’

  ‘Don’t try. Do! You are a member of my felag! I believe in you!’

  ‘It is fine for you to say. Now!’ Her hands were slippery and she found it impossible to grip the oar properly. She released it, wiped her hands on her trousers and tried again. Her heart soared. Ivar believed in her.

  ‘Dagmar and Ragnfast might have survived. Such things do happen.’

  ‘There is no need to honey coat your words, Ivar, you think they are dead.’ She glanced up at him and his face showed grim compassion. ‘You think they were punished because of what I did.’

  ‘With you, Thyre, I would not dare. You must be prepared for their death, certainly.’ His brow creased. ‘There are some things that a lady should not see. As to the other, we do not know who did this or why. Wait before you worry.’

  ‘I am prepared. The sooner, the better. Sometimes, a lady has no choice.’ Thyre gripped the oar tighter, as the longing to have his arms about her swamped her. She concentrated on the oar rather than the horizon and regained control. She had forced the bargain. She would not be the one to change it. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I must row. It is the only thing I can do.’

  ‘As you wish…You are truly a warrior, Thyre.’

  Thyre fancied she saw a gleam of respect in his eyes.

  She reached forwards and brought the oar back, a simple motion but this time it gave her strength. She could do something. She did not need to depend on Ivar. But in her heart, she wanted to be enfolded in his arms and be a woman again.

  The ship rounded the final bend and the great smouldering black lump of charred wood that had been the hall rose up before them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thyre pulled hard at the oars until the keel of the boat scraped along the bottom a few yards from the shore. Then unable to stand the torture of not knowing what had happened to Ragnfast and Dagmar any longer, she let go of the oar and stood. Her back was plastered with sweat and her palms ached, but the smouldering ruins rose before her and the shore was devoid of life.

  How long had it been since she had first spied the burnt-out remains of her former home? More than enough time for anyone who remained to appear on shore. Surely they could not all be dead.

  Without waiting for a signal, she jumped out of the boat and into the surf. The cold water soaked her trousers, but she pressed onwards, ignoring Ivar’s strident command to get back in the boat.

  When she reached the shore, all was unnaturally silent and deserted. A flock of seagulls rose up as one, twisting and turning in the air. The ash and blackened wood still gave off a faint heat. Thyre started. The hall had burnt only several days before.

  ‘Ragnfast! Dagmar! Hilde! Sven the forester! Anyone!’ Thyre called over and over again, hoping against hope that somehow her instinct was wrong and this was a terrible accident with a cooking fire rather than an attack.

  The seagulls mocked her cries, but slowly a bedraggled cat came picking its way delicately through the wreckage. Its fur was partly singed. Seeing Thyre, it gave a pitiful yowl.

  She ran to it, picking it up and exclaiming over and over. Beygul gave a loud purr. Somehow, it made everything better and worse at the same time. Beygul had obviously not eaten for days. The knowledge drove all the air out of her lungs. Dagmar would never have let the cat get into such a state. Even Ragnfast saw to the comfort of his animals.

  ‘Thyre, you are endangering everyone by remaining here out in the open,’ Ivar thundered. ‘Come back here with the men, until it is safe. Do you know nothing of military strategy?’

  ‘I found Beygul, my cat.’ Thyre held the cat out. ‘But there does not seem to be anyone here. There are no boats. Nothing.’

  ‘Whoever did this may have come and gone.’ Ivar pointed towards the shoreline. ‘You can see where they burnt your stepfather’s boat along with the trampled sand from the footsteps of the warriors. And reddened sand.’

  ‘Reddened sand?’

  ‘I am sorry, Thyre, someone died and since the last rainfall.’

  Her eyes followed his hand and saw the blood-soaked sand. She forgot how to work her lungs and gasped for air.

  A raid had caused this destruction. It could not have been anything else. Her insides ached. It had to have been Sigmund’s men. But would they have acted without orders from the king against a jaarl? Her uncle had ordered the destruction of their home. Her mother might have forgiven her banishment, but she knew she would never forgive this.

  ‘This is where my family lived. My home since I was born. I can even see Dagmar’s weaving frame in the rubble.’ She clutched the cat tighter. Her entire being trembled. To him, it was another burnt-out hall, but to her, it was her home. She knew every piece of charred wood. How many people had been killed? Where were the survivors? If she had been here, could she have prevented the deaths? Waves of helplessness and regret swept over her. She buried her face against Beygul’s fur and willed the tears not to come.

  ‘This should have been prev
ented. They should have been warned,’ she said when she was certain her voice would be firm. ‘We should have returned here, rather than going on to Kaupang. Do you think I was feasting when—?’

  ‘Do not torture yourself, Thyre. It was my choice, not yours.’ Ivar laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. ‘And the past is carved in stone. We can only change the future.’

  ‘I suppose you are right.’ She resisted the urge to lean against his chest, instead forcing her legs to walk away from the ruin and towards where the bathing hut had stood.

  ‘I know I am.’ He put an arm about her waist and led her away from the smouldering ruin.

  Somehow, it made it worse that Ivar was being kind. His anger and stubbornness were known quantities and she could have raged against him. But his kindness showed how much she had lost and how many mistakes she had made. How much she would miss him when he went. She wanted to believe in second chances, but their bargain was very clear. She had made her choice.

  ‘Thyre? Lady, is that you?’ A woman’s voice called from the trees at the edge of the wood. ‘I have been praying and praying, but the gods appeared to be deaf.’

  Thyre peered into the gloomy forest and the outline of a shawl-draped woman appeared beside the large oak tree.

  ‘Hilde, thank all the gods in Asgard that you are alive.’ Shaking off Ivar’s restraining hand, Thyre rushed towards the woman. Beygul squirmed slightly in her arms and she allowed the cat to escape. When Thyre reached the woman, she was dismayed to see that Hilde was on her own. ‘Where is Dagmar? Ragnfast? Are they…?’

  ‘I have no idea, my lady.’ The woman dropped a nervous curtsy. Her face sported several bruises and she had burn marks on her wrists as if she had fought the flames.

  ‘How can you not know?’ Thyre looked at Hilde in amazement. The maid had been here all the time. She had to know what had happened. She had to know where they were, where everyone was. ‘How many are left? Did anyone survive besides you?’

  ‘A number of the household survived. But we hid when we saw your ships. We do not want any more warriors here. But then I remembered about your going with the Viken, and I volunteered to spy and to see if these warriors were friends or not.’