Sent as the Viking's Bride Page 3

  Two bright spots appeared on the woman’s pale cheeks, flooding her face with colour. A strong wind would blow her over. He knew her type. He had encountered enough of them back in the old country when he was growing up. She’d know about court gossip or the ways to recite a saga or how to fix a sweetmeat, but he doubted if she understood the hard back-breaking work life on this rugged western isle required. He was doing her a favour by sending her back.

  ‘I was given to understand that you required a wife and that I satisfied those requirements. It seemed like the perfect alternative to my life in Kaupang. My husband recently died and we had no other male protectors.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘Someone may have been playing a joke, Gunnar Olafson, but the joke was on me and my sister, not you. I accepted the offer under false pretences. I have left my home and everything I held dear to travel here for a new life. I cannot return with these men. Know that much.’

  Her voice was clear and steady and not unpleasant to the ear. Her gaze direct, rather than downcast. The tilt of her chin reminded him of how his mother acted when the world was against her and the silver fire shone again in her eyes.

  A tiny voice inside Gunnar questioned why he was watching this woman so closely if he was going to send her on her way. He ignored it. No man or woman dictated what he should do or whom he should marry. He’d earned the right to make his own choice. And this woman wasn’t his choice.

  ‘My friend acted without thinking things through properly.’ Gunnar roughly shoved the remaining tankard of ale in her general direction and waited for her to refuse it. Fine ladies should be served mead or wine as they turned their noses up at ale, according to his mother’s dictates.

  Her fingers brushed his and he was aware of her—the sweep of her neck, the length of her fingers and how her dress hinted at her slender curves, rather than revealing them. He wanted to reveal those curves and explore them more in depth.

  Gunnar buried the unexpected feeling down deep. It was merely because he had been busy with the estate, rather than seeking female companionship. Jul was coming and with it, his annual oath-taking at Kolbeinn’s hall. There he was certain to find an instantly forgettable buxom blonde who would attend to his physical needs.

  She regarded him from under her lashes with those silver-flecked eyes. ‘What are we to do about this non-authorised promise? Forget that it ever happened?’

  Gunnar ran a hand through his hair. Better she went now before he started to hope for the curse’s end. Before he was responsible for another woman’s death.

  ‘Eylir overstepped. That much is clear. When I spoke of acquiring a bride last Jul, I expected to travel northwards once the hall and the farm were prosperous. Ketil would have understood the necessity of waiting.’ He pronounced the name of the overlord of the Western Isles and Manx with enough lack of reverence for Ragnhild to understand his status.

  Ragnhild held out a rune stick. ‘King Harald has issued new decree about men needing to be married in order to hang on to the gifted lands. Eylir acted in your best interests.’

  Her tone implied he would be an idiot for acting otherwise. Gunnar clenched his jaw. Harald Fine-Hair had once been a close comrade-in-arms when they’d served in the Byzantine Emperor’s personal guard. He doubted if the King intended to enforce the decree on everyone. The King would use it as he used other decrees, to chivvy those he disagreed with and reward his cronies.

  ‘Exceptions can be made. They have been in the past. Harald uses such decrees to further his own ends, enforcing where he chooses. Kolbeinn will keep his own counsel about this. I never considered Eylir for being an old woman worrier.’

  ‘As your friend is in Kaupang, he is better placed than you to judge the mood of the King and his court.’

  ‘How did your husband die?’

  ‘A boring story which has little relevance to me standing here in front of you.’

  ‘We differ on that view. Had he lived, you would not be here. Had he left you with lands, you would have remained on them.’

  ‘Neither of us can rewrite history.’

  Gunnar frowned. ‘You must think me naïve to take everything on trust. How do I even know Eylir sent you?’

  She shoved the rune stick towards him again with an overly bright smile. ‘Read the runes. I can tell you what any of the unfamiliar marks means, if you like.’

  Gunnar gritted his teeth. What secrets had Eylir confided? The last thing he wanted was to be laughed at by this woman because of his trouble with reading runes, because he was more skilled at the sword and axe than at learning and frippery. ‘They are clear enough.’

  ‘Your eyes remain sceptical. Do you require more proof? Captain, come here and inform this man who paid my passage and why.’ She gestured towards the captain who hurried up and confirmed the woman’s story. Eylir the Black had paid for the passage for this woman. One way for the bride of Gunnar Olafson, extra because of the time of year. The woman had paid for her sister, but it had been barely enough because everyone knew women with eyes like that offended the sea gods.

  Gunnar caught his top lip between his teeth. The fool should trust his skill, rather than seeking to sacrifice the innocent when the first squall blew up.

  The boatman gave a shout about the shifting tide and the need to be away from the rocks sharpish. He wanted to know where he should put the trunk. Ragnhild shouted to hold on, that the tide would wait a while longer.

  ‘Your friend said that you were a fair man. I have travelled far and staked a great deal on this marriage which now turns out to be a false promise.’ She took a step forward and her eyes blazed a deep silver, making her pale face come alive.

  He screwed his eyes tightly shut. A fair man. He pictured Eylir saying that with one of his careless laughs, the sort that made the unwary relax.

  ‘Where will you go? Will you return to your family in Viken?’

  ‘For a price, I am sure the captain will take me somewhere.’ She glared at him with her silver-blue eyes and he fancied fear underneath the bravado.

  ‘For a great price.’ The captain smacked his lips. Behind him, the crew sniggered. In his gut, Gunnar knew neither woman would reach another shore.

  ‘Wait.’ Gunnar put a hand on her trembling arm. Something stirred deep inside of him. He was aware of her, the way her chest rose and fell and how the ends of her flyaway tendrils curled about her forehead. All Ragnhild Thorendottar had done was behave like his mother might have done after his father’s death, if the option had been open to her.

  ‘Why wait? The tide shifts.’ She gave his hand a pointed look and he slowly released her. ‘You’ve already decided. I regret troubling you or in any way causing you embarrassment. I must accept my fate.’

  ‘Eylir sent you to me. I have an obligation to ensure your safety, but I will choose my own bride. You remain here.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Why are you willing to do this?’ she whispered. ‘My sister and I are strangers.’

  ‘I would hate for your shades to haunt me. That boat appears barely seaworthy,’ he said, opting for a half-truth.

  Her bitter laugh rang out. ‘My shade would be haunting others first.’

  ‘The least I can do after you have travelled all this way.’ Gunnar took a deep breath. He was providing shelter, not allowing this woman and girl into his life.

  She held out her hand. ‘I accept as a guest, not a bride.’

  Chapter Two

  A hard, soaking rain lashed down and the pale light from the sky made the looming mountain turn a deep brooding purple, but Ragn knew her feet were on firm ground. Being here with a reluctant host was a thousand times better than being on that ship where, when this storm hit, she and Svana would have been tossed overboard. Best of they’d escaped Vargr’s reach. Small gifts from the gods. She had the most precious of commodities—time.

  ‘Where are the women of the household?’ Ragn asked a
s it became increasingly clear Gunnar’s men had deserted his cold hall for their own homes rather than bedding down there.

  ‘I manage well enough on my own. I can even brew ale and boil meat. My men’s wives turn their hand to the spindle and loom as well as any and I enjoy the silence.’

  He gave a superior sort of smile, but one which made his features become breath-taking. One smile and the women in his life must melt and do his bidding. She silently resolved that she would not join the legion of panting followers.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Years of warring. In time, when I marry, there will be women, but for now it is just me and my dogs.’

  ‘Surely you have servants or...’ Ragn hesitated. How to explain that Svana was terrified of the dogs? Any explanation would have to include Vargr. Then there would be awkward questions about the estate, why no man would fight for her rights and why they were on their own. Later, she promised that little voice in her head, once they were warm and dry, once she had formulated a new plan now that there would be no marriage.

  His brow lowered. ‘I see no point in acquiring women as then I’d have to endure their prattling and twittering company.’

  Endure their company.

  Ragn’s heart sank. Eylir had kept quiet about his friend’s views on women and their usefulness. ‘Eylir failed to mention that you disliked women.’

  A dimple shone in his cheek. ‘I love women at the right time and in the right place. Other than in my bed, most women flutter about like birds, chirp up all the time about nonsense until my back teeth ache and leave messes to be cleaned up.’

  Ragn took three deep breaths of air. ‘The reasons why your friend despaired of you ever marrying become ever clearer.’

  ‘A few more days and I would have departed for Colbhasa and the start of the Jul celebrations,’ he said, pointedly changing the subject. ‘Not the comfort you must be used to, but it will serve until for the short time you will be here. You depart and my solitude can return. Have I mentioned that I enjoy the quiet?’

  Ragn ignored the words about going. Her head pounded enough as it was. She had to concentrate on the positives, starting with not being in the boat.

  ‘When did you plan to go to the north? To find a bride?’ She deliberately paused, racking her brain for what Eylir had said about his story. The truth was that she hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been that grateful for a way out of the shadows and hiding, half-expecting every knock on the door to bring Vargr and his berserker assassins. ‘Or would you have found a reason why you need to be somewhere else rather than bride-hunting?’

  ‘Eylir has been telling his usual far-fetched tales.’ The planes on his face hardened to chiselled stone. ‘I have lands to tame. What good is having a bride if she shivers without a proper house to keep her? What good children if they starve because you failed to have enough stores because you lack the proper buildings? Once I know for certain they can survive, I will find my bride.’

  ‘And the King’s decree that owners of gifted lands must be married?’

  ‘There is a great deal of water between me and the King’s shining new hall, the one which shimmers like gold on a summer evening and many other unmarried jaarls who are closer.’

  Her heart felt a little easier. It wasn’t her, it was the entire concept of marriage he objected to. Maybe in time... She rejected the thought before it started. She was not going to start weaving wishes again. If she had looked like Trana with spun gold for hair, pouting lips and a bosom for a man to bury his face in, they would be married. Instead she knew what she looked like—all teeth and no figure with her one beauty, her long hair, burnt away in the fire, along with her dowry.

  ‘Returning to Viken is not an option. Let me—’

  ‘I choose my own bride, not Eylir. I will travel to the north to find her, like I vowed on my mother’s grave.’ His blue-eyed gaze raked her form. ‘The sort of bride I have in mind will be entirely different from what you keep offering.’

  The words cut far deeper than they should. She should be used to it after Hamthur’s barbs, but that small part of her which hoped her late husband had been wrong had never been entirely extinguished. Somewhere in this world there had to be a man who would appreciate what she brought to a marriage and treat her with respect. Right now, she’d settle for safety for Svana and that meant finding somewhere far from Vargr’s influence.

  ‘Thank you for the clarity,’ she said in a tight voice.

  All the amusement fled from his face. ‘Pardon for any offence. I merely meant my bride will not have to travel on her own. Those men would have killed you or your sister if you’d travelled with them further.’

  ‘I see.’ Ragn inclined her head and allowed the untruth.

  He ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand upright. ‘I’m more used to the company of warriors than ladies. It is something I must work on before I travel north to woo.’

  ‘Ladies do expect a certain amount of honey-coated words when they are wooed.’

  He gave a rich laugh which warmed her to her toes. ‘You possess a tart tongue and are unafraid to mince words. Perhaps you should learn honey-coating as well.’

  ‘Curbing my tongue has always been a problem. Allow me to try again.’ She made a curtsy. ‘I’m pleased you have taken pity on me and my sister and have allowed us to stay. I will trust your assessment of the captain who brought me. No good would have come of our returning to the north.’

  ‘Your family would not welcome your return.’

  She examined the dirty rushes. His words were far too close to the truth. She need to seize control of the conversation and steer it away from tricky subjects like why her family would not assist her. ‘Perhaps one day I will thank you for choosing not to marry me. I know I certainly have no wish for an unwilling husband. However, I believe in looking forward, not harping on past mistakes.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’ His laugh rang out. ‘My temper is far too short. I’ve a certain disregard for the niceties of polite conversation and little care for life’s luxuries. Past women have detailed my defects.’

  ‘Then we should be friends as we’ve both avoided something that was destined to make us unhappy.’

  He examined her from hooded eyes. ‘Can men and women ever be friends?’

  ‘I like to think they can be.’ Ragn hoped she was telling the truth. Her parents had had a deep friendship until her mother’s death. She’d listened to her father’s despairing sobs after every feast until his death. ‘I consider you one for giving me and my sister a place to stay instead of forcing us back on that ship. You saved our lives.’

  He bowed his head. ‘I’ll take you to Ile in the morning. The commander, Sigurd Sigmundson, is a friend. He can find you passage on a ship northwards when the ships begin to move in the spring.’

  Ragn firmed her mouth. She had heard of Ile. Vargr had had something to do with it a few years before, but she believed the commander of the fort had changed. ‘The captain and his crew feared Svana’s eyes. I sacrificed a gold necklace to calm the sea. If such a thing happened on the return journey, I doubt I could prevent it.’

  ‘Fools.’ Gunnar shook his head. ‘As if how a passenger looks matters more than the skill of the navigator or the pilot. They should remember Odin only has one eye, but still manages to navigate his ship. Your sister has two good eyes, even if one turns inward.’

  A dog’s howl made him stop and cock his head to one side.

  ‘Is there something amiss?’ Ragn asked as Svana froze at the sound. In another breath Svana would throw herself on the ground and reveal precisely why the sailors feared her.

  ‘I shut my dogs in the barn when I spied the ship. They dislike strangers.’

  ‘Do they come into the hall?’ she asked, trying to calculate how she had to prepare Svana.

  ‘You and your sister remain here out of the col
d and damp. Wait here until I return.’

  Ragn grasped Svana’s hand. ‘All will be well, sweetling. We are safe.’

  Svana gave the barest hint of a nod. ‘Safe is good.’

  Ragn watched Gunnar stride away into the murky gloom. She had until morning to convince him to change his mind and allow them to stay.

  * * *

  When the final embers of the meagre fire vanished, a steady and insistent cold crept around Ragn. Despite Gunnar’s request for her to wait, she knew she had to act. Her breath made great plumes in the air and keeping her hands busy made it easier for her to think.

  In the silence, Svana sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we truly going to have to leave here tomorrow? Will the dogs come in to eat me up?’

  ‘I protected you once from dogs, I can do so again.’

  ‘Is it my eyes the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send us away? The witch woman said my eyes would only bring sorrow.’

  Ragn’s heart clenched. Typical Svana thinking, blaming herself when Ragn knew the truth—it was her he didn’t want. ‘The witch woman was Vargr’s creature, even though she pretended otherwise. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

  ‘Ragn, my stomach hurts. Will we starve?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’ Ragn hunkered down so her face was about level with Svana’s. ‘Trust me—I will see us safe.’

  Svana’s eyes widened. ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘First, I am going to make us a hot meal. A solid one. Hard to think straight when your belly rumbles. Remember I brought dried herbs and mushrooms in our trunks. I spied the kitchen building when he had the trunks dragged up here. No need to stay in this ice palace.’

  Svana wrinkled her nose, but her face lost its terrified expression. ‘How will that help us stay?’

  ‘His friend said that he longed for the old country, perhaps once he has a taste of it...he will be in a better mood. And as a general rule, dogs stay out of kitchens so you will be safe there.’