The Warrior's Viking Bride (Harlequin Historical) Read online

  * * *

  Dagmar’s stomach gave a loud rumble when they reached the hut, reminding her that it had been some time since she had last eaten. Dead grasses and leaves were blown against the door and the roof exhibited a gaping hole. Closer inspection revealed that the far wall had tumbled down.

  ‘Shelter for the night,’ Aedan said. ‘Better than sleeping completely out in the open with the rain and midges for company.’

  She hated that her dismay must have shown on her face and that he was being kind. Aedan mac Connall was a far easier proposition to hate when he was being officious. ‘It makes it easier that no one is here. No awkward questions. No half-truths to remember.’

  ‘Sit with Mor by the hut. I will fetch supper.’

  ‘Oh, you can magic it up out of thin air, can you?’

  ‘I’m a man of many talents.’ He gave a bow and set off.

  Mor flopped down at Dagmar’s feet. When Dagmar made a move to go into the hut, she gave a low growl and shook her head.

  ‘Shall we be friends? I could use a friend.’ Dagmar held out her hand again. ‘Without you, I’d have been lost.’

  The dog gave a cautious sniff before settling her head on her paws.

  ‘Your master is right,’ Dagmar said, leaning back against the wall and allowing the pale sun which cautiously peeped through the mist to warm her face. She had forgotten what it was like simply to sit. Ever since her mother had died, she had not had a moment to spare. ‘Going through the marshes saves us time. Olafr will suspect that we are making for my father’s, though. The question is—does he realise that I am my father’s sole heir now? Had my mother confided in him about the sword signal? Could it be something he hid from me? Thinking that I’d marry him? He certainly seemed perturbed by your master’s appearance.’

  Mor exhaled a loud breath of air which Dagmar took for a ‘yes, you idiotic human’ noise.

  She had made the mistake of underestimating Olafr before. She could not afford to make that mistake again. Olafr remained her most potent enemy now that her stepmother was dead.

  There was a possibility that Olafr would show up on Colbhasa and spin a convincing tale, something her father would believe and put her in danger, but that was a problem for the future.

  Reaching her father was her best hope of long-term survival. Once there, she could make him see that she was equal to any of his warriors, that she could fight for his felag. Marriage to some unknown warrior with more muscles than brains was not inevitable. She could demonstrate to her father that her mother had kept her promise and had ensured her child could compete with the best warriors. Then she could wreak revenge on Olafr. And after that was done, she’d find the peace she’d sought. Some day she would sit with the sun warming her face and nothing more pressing to worry about than harvesting the crops.

  ‘You needn’t fear, you know. I’ll go to Colbhasa, but I’ll find a way to make the sort of life I want.’

  ‘Talking to yourself or the dog?’ Aedan reappeared carrying several trout.

  Her stomach rumbled. She hated to think how long it had been since she’d had a proper meal.

  ‘That was fast.’

  ‘It is easy when you know how to fish. A line and hook is all I require. Simple.’

  ‘A man of many hidden talents.’

  ‘An old family secret.’ He turned his back and busied himself with the fire.

  ‘Have you passed it on to your children?’

  ‘I don’t have children.’ The tone of his voice had become chipped from ice.

  Dagmar frowned. Aedan definitely didn’t like talking about himself. She should leave it, but it was like a sore that she could not stop prodding. ‘Am I keeping you from your bride? Your intended? Is that who Mhairi truly is? It would be like my father to do that as he likes to get his own way.’

  ‘No. There is no bride. Mhairi lives on Kintra. It surprised me that she even volunteered to be a hostage. I’d not have thought she had it in her, but she obviously did. I’d never considered her as wife material.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Aedan concentrated on building the fire. Why not?

  It was a question his people and his priest kept asking. His excuses were wearing thin—first Brigid, his betrothed, the woman he’d loved as a young man, had died, ostensibly while she visited relations. To the world he had grieved, but he and his brother had been the only ones to understand the full extent of her betrayal. Then there was no hurry because his brother had married and had two children. And that marriage had proved little better than his parents’.

  Then there was the mess his brother had left behind after he perished in battle which had had to be sorted, but lately the murmurings had grown, particularly his need to provide an heir. Without an heir, Kintra would go to his distant cousin and many doubted if Sean would manage to hold out against the Northmen in the same way as Aedan had, but Aedan wanted something more than a duty-bound marriage doomed to failure.

  ‘I’ve my reasons,’ he said as he felt Dagmar’s eyes boring into him. ‘Are you married? Before the battle, I had wondered about Olafr and you. He has the sort of looks women usually find irresistible. My brother was the same with women forever buzzing about him.’

  ‘I’d have sooner married a viper than him.’ Dagmar’s brows lowered and her mouth became a thin white line. She used a pointed stick to draw a line in the dirt. ‘Olafr was my mother’s lover, not mine. Old Alf told me that I should have banished him after he asked for my hand in marriage before the ashes on my mother’s pyre had even gone cold. But I thought he could be useful with his ability to charm Constantine’s court. What a fool I was!’

  Deep within him, something rejoiced. Aedan suppressed it. Who she married was none of his business. His business was getting her back to her father so the hostages would be released and his people could prosper. Dagmar was forbidden to him. Aedan inclined his head. ‘I beg your pardon. He simply made it seem as though you two were as one.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Olafr could charm the birds out of the trees. The ladies certainly twittered about him. He was better at dealing with Constantine and his advisors. I can be too abrupt at times. I dislike fools and see little reason to hide my thoughts.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  Her answering laugh rang out, before her face became full of serious intent. ‘My father must accept that I will follow my own chosen path and have no intention of marrying to please him or anyone else.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Aedan hid his smile. There was little point in explaining that her father would be seeking a son-in-law to rule his lands and command his ships. Dagmar would have little choice but to obey. He would be interested to hear of the clash between father and daughter when it occurred, but please God, make it after he returned to Kintra.

  She leant forward. ‘Being a warrior is what my mother trained me for. She believed a woman could and should be a man’s equal. She distrusted marriage and considered that it sapped a woman’s strength.’

  ‘Did she train you well?’

  ‘Warfare has been my way of life ever since we left my father’s compound in the north country. I inherited my mother’s felag because she considered me a worthy successor, not because I was her daughter. I’ve an eye for strategy and forward planning. Why should a woman be treated differently than a man?’

  ‘My former sister-in-law would agree with you.’

  ‘Former?’

  ‘My late brother’s wife. She is now married to a Northman—Sigurd Sigmundson.’

  ‘Sigurd Sigmundson shot an arrow that killed his mother.’

  ‘You’ve heard of him.’

  ‘I thought it right and proper—they’d put her alive on the fire after her master died. Being raped and burnt alive is a barbaric practice whatever a soothsayer says. Soothsayers can be bribed.’

  ‘You know the story?’


  ‘I’ve encountered him. We fought together in Ireland a few seasons ago, right before my mother pledged her felag to Constantine’s service. He chose to ally with Ketil.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘I’d quite forgotten about him. Perchance...’

  ‘Sigurd will do nothing to jeopardise his relationship with Kolbeinn. We may have our differences, but I believe he prefers me to be the laird at Kintra. I’m a known quantity.’

  Dagmar stared at the small fire, watching the sparks fly up. ‘I’ve given you my word that I will see my father. I will, but if he forces me to do anything I disapprove of, I shall become a sell-sword. Sigurd prospered that way. I can as well.’

  Dagmar as a sell-sword. He doubted Kolbeinn would agree to that. Or allow her out of his sight. She would be married off to one of his most trusted warriors as soon as it could be arranged. Kolbeinn wanted to secure his legacy. Her desires would count for nothing. Kolbeinn would triumph one way or another. But her future was not his problem or concern as his mother would have said.

  ‘A hard way to survive,’ he said mildly. He’d allow Kolbeinn to break the news to her and deal with his daughter’s fiery temper. Aedan had a kingdom to save.

  ‘My mother did it.’

  ‘Your mother must have been an exceptional woman.’

  Her eyes lit with undisguised pleasure and her entire being sparkled. ‘She was. One of the bravest people I ever met. If I can be one-tenth the warrior she was, I will die happy. She had terrible taste in men. Olafr was a mistake from start to finish. And my father. I have to wonder where her brain was then.’

  ‘Wait until you see what your father offers you.’

  ‘Or who.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘I know what my father will want of me, Aedan. He’ll have handpicked a blockhead of a warrior for me, one he didn’t want to risk on this journey. But I’ll find a way to teach my father a lesson and then we negotiate.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did my father—’

  ‘I have no idea of Kolbeinn’s intentions, but it won’t be me.’ Aedan watched the sparks circling in the sky. ‘Kolbeinn wants me destroyed. He expected you to kill me, remember? Throat slit by an unknowing executioner.’

  ‘You had the sword.’

  ‘Only because his mistress ran down to the water and tossed it to me as I was shoving the boat off.’

  She gave a soft laugh, one which sent pleasurable shivers down his spine. ‘I suspect he reckoned any bridegroom will be far less eager after they encounter me and it was best accomplished where he had control over the situation.’

  He inclined his head and kept his expression neutral. The firelight had highlighted the planes of her face. ‘Whatever you are planning, do it after I leave with my people. Your father’s temper is uncertain at the best of times.’

  ‘I know my father’s temper.’ The bleakness in her voice surprised him.

  ‘Do you fear him?’

  She tilted her head to one side. ‘Surprisingly, no, now that my stepmother is dead. He was good to me when I was little. I used to wait by the jetty for him when he returned. Once he brought me a wooden horse. Another time, a bow and arrow. When he came back the final time it was for my tenth name day. He had promised me a beautiful blue gown to match my eyes, but he brought my stepmother instead. She was supposed to teach me to be a fine lady as that was why I had desired the gown. So, her arrival was all my fault.’

  ‘There will be more to it than a little girl desiring a pretty dress. You said that your mother told you that her marriage had sapped her strength. Perhaps they were both deeply unhappy.’

  She stifled a large yawn. Her eyes blinked shut and her chin dropped. When she looked like that, he had a hard time believing this woman could lift a sword, let alone lead an army. Without her blue whorls and plaits in her hair, she seemed vulnerable. He, however, knew that it was a mere illusion. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. ‘My childhood! I try never to speak of my childhood. It doesn’t do any good to remember. We won’t speak of it again. Promise.’

  He leant over and took the remains of her meal from her. Their fingers brushed, sending an unexpected charge up his arm.

  He silently sighed. Why her? Why not one of the women who had been touted as his bride after his brother died? Why not one of the Northwomen who lived with Sigurd Sigmundson and his wife? Why not Mhairi who had offered her freedom for his people?

  Starting anything with Dagmar would be a bad idea. It was troubling that the thought of facing her father had failed to dampen his body’s response to the inadvertent touch.

  ‘Get some sleep. No protests. You will give in gracefully, instead of being contrary and protesting.’

  She laughed her tinkling brook laugh and he found that he had been waiting for it. He watched her mouth and wondered what it would taste like. He quickly concentrated on the fire.

  ‘I’ll give in only because you ask so politely. Besides, I can’t risk you leaving me alone in the marsh.’ She wiped her fingers on her trousers. ‘Where should I sleep?’

  ‘In the hut. The roof will give at least some shelter from the rain.’

  ‘Where will you sleep?’

  ‘Not in the rain.’

  ‘We can share the hut without a problem. I trust you are not a noisy sleeper.’

  ‘You’ve no weapons to stop me snoring.’

  Her smile lit up her eyes. With any other woman, he’d have taken it as an invitation to flirtation, but with Dagmar, he knew it was because she enjoyed a challenge. ‘I find a quick sharp kick to the shins with my boots works wonders.’ ‘I’ll bear that in mind and take the first watch.’

  ‘Wake me when you tire and I’ll take over the watch. I rarely sleep long.’

  She went into the hut with her backside slightly swaying. Her trousers revealed her curves far more neatly than a gown ever could. He wondered why he had ever considered trousers mannish. On Dagmar with her hair falling softly about her shoulders, they were positively indecent.

  He rapidly tried to conjure Mhairi’s face, but the image singularly failed.

  Chapter Four

  Aedan stamped out the remains of the dying fire as the yellow harvest moon rose. The faint drizzle had stopped and the sky had cleared. A touch of frost on the grass in the morning was a real possibility. The grain would be being brought into the storehouses at Kintra now.

  He gave one last look about the clearing where the hut was situated. All was at peace. Given the blackness of the night, none would risk the marshes now. They were safe here. The ashes of a burnt-out fire were from some fellow traveller days before and the hut had been abandoned long ago.

  A great weariness settled over his bones. He hated to think how long he’d been awake, risking no more than a doze as he’d waited for Dagmar to come around after the battle. Several times he’d checked her breathing, fearful that he might have hit her too hard.

  A small plea for help made his blood freeze. It came again. Aedan drew his sword and looked about him, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. Mor merely opened one eye and nudged her head towards the hut. He peeped in.

  In her sleep, Dagmar was crying for her mother to stop, that she couldn’t go further, that she couldn’t take another step, that she didn’t want to be abandoned in the forest, that she hadn’t meant for everything to be lost. Her body thrashed about on the hut’s earthen floor.

  Aedan put his hand on Dagmar’s shoulder and shook her slightly. ‘Hush now. You’re safe. You’re no longer a little girl. You’re a capable woman. No one is going to leave you behind.’

  Her screams increased. Mor lifted her head from her paws and gave him a look which said that he needed to solve this quickly or none of them would get any sleep.

  He stretched out beside her, put his arm across her and stroked her hair. Her hair was like silk against his fingers. The invincible warrior was a shield which hid this frightened woman. He hated to think what she must
have faced as a young girl. ‘It’ll be fine, Dagmar,’ he said. ‘You’re safe. I’ll protect you. You’ve done enough.’

  She gave an indistinct murmur and snuggled closer, laid her head against his chest and pinned him down. Every time he attempted to move, she followed.

  Keeping one arm about her, he took off his cloak and spread it over them both. She instantly smiled in her sleep. The hut descended into a peaceful silence. Mor gave a soft woof of approval and settled her head back on her paws.

  ‘We shall both have to sleep here then. Mor has decreed it necessary and you know how I hate to go against my dog.’

  * * *

  Her old dream returned, the one which had plagued her since her tenth name day. In it, she became separated from her mother and had to continue alone in the dark wood where the owls hooted and the bats swooped as they raced to reach the edge of her father’s lands before daybreak. Even Old Alf had disappeared, despite her calling. She screamed, knowing what was to come next and being unable to prevent it—a big berserker looming out of the darkness with murder in his eyes and her mother weakened from the fight, struggling to hold him off. Then suddenly, unexpectedly a heavy weight went over her and the dream changed. A warrior appeared to protect her, but a light shone, hiding his face. The berserker vanished and she knew all would be well.

  * * *

  Dagmar woke to realise that her ear rested on Aedan’s chest. The comforting sound of his steady heartbeat echoed the sound of the brook from her dream. Her hand had twisted about his tunic as if she was afraid to let him go. Was this the warrior of her dream? She knew that if she turned her head slightly, her lips would encounter his bare flesh. Her mouth tingled in anticipation of the possibility.

  She stopped breathing and eased her fingers away. She had difficulty remembering if she had lain next to him or had moved there in the night. It counted for nothing. What mattered was getting away from his encircling arms before he woke. The last thing she needed was developing an attraction for this man. She knew how such things ended.