The Viking's Captive Princess

‘The gods punish arrogance,’ Thyre said with crushing firmness. ‘Surely you have studied the sagas.’

‘It is not arrogance speaking, but skill. There is a difference.’

Thyre held back a quick retort. Ragnfast should be saying these things and making this insufferable man understand that he needed to depart quickly, instead of simply standing there with a speculative expression on his face, his fingers stroking the crystal. ‘Proud words for a man who presumes upon our hospitality.’

‘One who requests what is due to him and who intends to honour his obligations.’

‘There is nothing to interest you here.’ She turned towards Ragnfast and cleared her throat. Now was the moment that Ragnfast was supposed to plead poverty. They had agreed on the wording. ‘Is that not right, Ragnfast? We wish them to leave quickly. There is nothing for the Viken here. We live simply between the forest and the sea. We do not trade in ironstone.’

Ragnfast made a non-committal grunt, and gestured with his hand. ‘The Viken are welcome to repair their ship, Thyre. Long ago, their king allowed me time to repair mine. He may have the same length of time—a day and a night—but no more. You will experience the same bountiful hospitality that I was offered.’

‘Your stepfather has spoken, Thyre. Bountiful hospitality. We must abide by his wishes.’ The Viken jaarl’s eyes twinkled as he made another ironic bow.

‘Ragnfast!’ Thyre said in a furious undertone. ‘You want a proper feast? I thought…’

‘I cannot help but think that Ran sent him here for a purpose.’ Ragnfast toyed with the crystal before placing it in his pouch. ‘We shall slaughter some sheep for you, Viken, as you are clearly a favourite with the Aesir to give such crystals as welcoming gifts. You may use what you need from the estate. Do not let it be said that Ragnfast the Steadfast forgets his obligations.’

Thyre narrowed her eyes. What game was Ragnfast playing at now? If he allowed the Viken to go poking around in the outer buildings, they could discover the silver and gold she had carefully hidden. Buildings could be rebuilt given time, but the loss of the gold and silver would devastate everyone. Her hands curled into impotent fists. All Ragnfast could see was the promise of a departure gift.

‘It is more than I expected.’ Ivar Gunnarson inclined his head. ‘Where can I find the timber and various implements that I will need to repair my ship?’

‘I will help you.’ Thyre said, giving Ragnfast a meaningful glance. ‘The women have been doing cleaning, Ragnfast, and everything is not where it should be.’

Silently she prayed Ragnfast would heed her warning. He gave an elaborate shrug. ‘My stepdaughter continually turns the estate upside down. In that she is like her mother.’

Ragnfast motioned for the others to go. The women made the customary gestures and departed. Thyre kept her back straight, waiting. She could do this. She could keep the Viken from guessing the true extent of their wealth. After all, she had put many warriors in their place before. They all seemed to think one ripple of their biceps and an indulgent smile was enough to drive a woman into their arms.

‘What do you require, Ivar Gunnarson?’ she asked.

‘What do I require?’ The Viken asked with a maddening lift of his brow, and his gaze lingered on the hollow of her throat. ‘It depends on what you are offering.’

‘Equipment to repair your ship and nothing more.’ Thyre rolled her eyes towards the sky at the blatant attempt at flirtation.

He laughed and his hand brushed her elbow. ‘Come with me and I shall show you.’

‘Ships and I are strangers. I need a list. I would not want to be accused of giving you the wrong thing.’ Thyre’s lips became dry and she moved her arm away from the heat radiating from his hand.

He rattled off a long list of items. Thyre began to breathe easier. Everything was easy to obtain and she had clearly made her point. He would have to find another woman to romance. ‘You shall have what you have asked for.’

‘And if I need anything else? How shall I call you? Shall I ask for the dark-haired princess? Or maybe it is the dark-haired witch.’

‘My name is Thyre and I am merely the stepdaughter,’ Thyre said firmly.

‘I will try to remember that. A stepdaughter and not a princess, although this certainly appears to be your kingdom.’

‘It belongs to my stepfather.’

His eyes became cold and for a moment he seemed to search her soul. ‘But you know where everything is kept, including the sour ale.’

Her hand flew to her mouth as the realisation hit—this warrior did possess a brain. He had seen through the ruse. The tiny pain in her head threatened to become a full-blown headache. He had warned her and not Rag-nfast. It was she that he held accountable for the trick. ‘You knew.’

‘I will let it go this time, Thyre, but no more tricks or insults. My men are warriors, not farmers. They tend to act before considering the consequences.’

‘I am well aware of who you are…now. You will be given the proper honour.’

Ivar watched the emotions play on her face. The woman understood what he was saying. Good. Perhaps they could avoid any unpleasant incidents and she would stop treating the Viken like they were ignorant or easily fooled. ‘You should trust me, Thyre. All I want to do is get home. It is a simple enough desire.’

‘We do not trust each other. It is how it has been since before I was born. Ranrike and Viken, there is too much between our two countries.’

‘Will you be sitting at the high table during the feast?’ Ivar tilted his head and examined the way a few tendrils of black hair escaped from her kerchief. ‘Or will you find an excuse to be somewhere else? Why not take a chance and learn that the Viken are like other men?’

Her eyebrows drew together. ‘I shall be there if my stepfather deems it necessary. Dagmar normally serves the important guests. It is a tradition.’

‘Traditions can change. Countries do not always need to be at war.’

‘Not this one.’ She strode off, the skirt of her apron twitching and revealing her slender ankles.

‘Is there some problem?’ Erik the Black called. ‘Your beautiful lady appears to have left in mid-conversation.’

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ Ivar watched her, struck again by the vague sense of recognition.

‘She is a proud beauty, that one. She would be a right forest cat in bed.’

A primitive urge to strangle Erik filled Ivar. If he had noticed Thyre’s appeal, others would have as well. ‘She is not for you or the rest of the crew. You may inform the men.’

‘But I take it the other women are…’ Erik raised an eyebrow as a knowing smile spread across his face.

‘If you must…as long as the women are willing and unclaimed. I will have no disputes over a skirt and a melting pair of eyes. We are here to repair the ship and to make sure the mast holds steady until we can get back to Kaupang. A night and a day.’

‘Will it be enough?’ Erik the Black asked. ‘The mast has cracked. Definitely. I heard the split when we were buffeted by the last gust of wind.’

‘Even though there is no sign of it yet, I trust you, Erik. We sail with our backs and our arms. We enjoy the feast and that is all.’

‘As you say, hospitality is there for the taking.’

Ivar regarded Thyre’s retreating back. Her head was proud and erect and her apron dress skimmed her curves. She moved with complete assurance. An appealing package, and one that held the possibility of being explored. She had flirted with him. For the first time in a long time, the beginnings of desire stirred within him. He would tame her. One single night—it could be done. ‘But that one is mine. I will unlock her secrets. No man is to molest her.’

‘Did anything untoward happen in the ceremony while I was away getting the mead, Dagmar?’ Thyre asked before Dagmar even had a chance to sit down on the kitchen bench. ‘Your father appeared distinctly uncomfortable when I returned with the horn of mead and he has gone to make another sacrifice to the gods. We had an agreement about what was to happen, and he broke it.’

‘If Sven had been here, he would have made sure Far held firm. Why did Far offer so much hospitality? Why not fight? They are not that many.’

Thyre held her tongue. Dagmar’s ideas about strategy were never particularly well thought out. This Viken warrior needed to be handled carefully.

‘What else happened, Dagmar?’ Thyre asked.

‘There was some boring old story that one of the Viken tried to recite, but that was all.’ Dagmar made a wry face. ‘You know Far, he sees the boat and thinks of gold and spices. Far is too greedy and short sighted, Sven says.’

‘And the leader, Ivar?’ Thyre kept her gaze on the kitchen fire, aware that her cheeks suddenly burnt. ‘How did he react?’

‘He acted quickly to calm the situation and Far was mollified.’ Dagmar wet her lips and smoothed her skirt. ‘His scar bothers me. To twist his mouth like that. How do you think he acquired it? It looks far too jagged to be a sword mark. But if you don’t see the scar, the rest of him is more than pleasant.’

Thyre stopped the words about Ivar Gunnarson’s broad shoulders and bulging arm muscles just before they tumbled out. The last thing she wanted was Dagmar teasing her about a fancy for a Viken warrior after she’d proclaimed her loathing of them for so many years. ‘As long as I see the back of him tomorrow, all will be well.’

‘You are right, Thyre. His back is by far the best view. A woman could feast on those shoulders.’ Dagmar smacked her lips.

‘Dagmar!’ Thyre put her hands on her hips, but Dagmar looked unrepentant.

‘I prefer a fine face and a gentle manner, so you may have no fears on that score. The Viken jaarl is all yours, if you want him.’

Thyre moved a bowl of cracked barley and took back charge of the conversation. ‘We need to have some other plan, in case the Viken jaarl has another motive. In case he decides to stay beyond the day and a night that he agreed with Ragnfast. This Viken warrior possesses a brain.’

Dagmar raised an eyebrow. ‘You and your plots. You should just allow things to happen.’

Thyre began to pace the floor, hating this feeling of helplessness. ‘The bonfire could be lit. We could send a signal to Sigmund. He promised that if ever we needed help, he would send warriors.’

‘Far would never allow it. It would give the jaarl Sigmund far too much power here. Besides, Sigmund would never reach here in time…and you know what Hilde said about how he hurt her and some of the other maids when he was last here.’

‘The jaarl Sigmund deserves to know that his ship washed up on these shores. If the Viken outstays his welcome, then he should face Ranrike’s mightiest jaarl.’

‘But who will light the fire? Who will face my father’s wrath?’

‘I will. I will take the responsibility.’ Thyre put back her shoulders. It had to be done and no one else could do it. ‘I refuse to stand by and let the Viken win.’

‘You do not even know if they will do anything. The Viken might be honest. He certainly is generous. Or seeking some other excuse?’ Dagmar held up her hand. ‘I too heard what Sigmund said to Far the last time he was here, but Far refused to believe him. He might not like Vikens, but he respects them. And he has beaten them before. He brought our mother back to Ranrike.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ Thyre said, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Ragnfast’s courage was well known—steadfast in heart and with his arm. Mor never said anything against him, but I think she would have wanted to keep this farm safe, whatever the cost.’

‘I miss her even though she has been dead for years and years. Sometimes, I can’t really remember her face or her voice. But I do know you take after her far more than I do.’

Thyre reached out her hand and Dagmar’s fingers instantly curled around it.

‘All I know is that I have to try, Dagmar. I will go to the second bonfire and light that one. After the Viken have gone, I will confess to Ragnfast. He will understand my reasoning.’ Thyre paused. ‘It was what Mother would have done—confessed after the fact. It is what she would want us to do.’

‘I hope you are right.’

‘It has to be done. A day and a night are all we have left.’ Thyre raised their clasped hands. ‘We do this in the Swan Princess’s memory. The Viken warriors will not abuse our hospitality. We will prevail and the estate will be safe.’

Chapter Three

‘The bonfire is lit and I saw the answering fire on the other side of the valley,’ Thyre announced to Dagmar on her return. It had taken less time than she had imagined to light the second beacon. Now her being was filled with a quiet exhilaration. How dare he make such statements about women? And look at her with such an arrogant stare? This Viken would learn that she was not to be trifled with. ‘Has there been any trouble?’

‘Nothing other than Hilde spilling the milk as she made eyes at one of the warriors.’

‘Hilde always makes eyes at every warrior,’ Thyre said with a laugh. ‘She thinks the bigger the muscles, the more desirable they are.’

But rather than answering with another comment about Hilde, Dagmar gave a huge sigh and started to wring her hands.

‘Out with it, Dagmar. What have the Viken done?’

‘While I supervised the lighting of the fire in the bathing hut, I kept thinking about what you said earlier. About Mother and how she would want us to do something to protect the estate.’ Dagmar gave a decided nod. ‘Do you mind if I go and look for Sven?’

‘He will not be back yet, Dagmar. He has been away only a few weeks. Is this truly necessary?’ Thyre gestured towards where the table groaned with grain and vegetables. ‘Much remains to be done. I need you here to help me with the cooking.’

‘It seems like for ever since he left.’ Dagmar gave a dramatic sigh. ‘The feast is well in hand. It only looks like a lot of work, but the grain is mostly ground and the turnips are peeled. Then once the cooking starts you will say it is easier if you do it yourself. You always do and the feast always arrives on time. I am doing you a favour. Besides, if Sven has returned, he will be able to rally the foresters to Ragnfast’s standard should the need arise. If you can do something brave by lighting the bonfire, I can do something as well.’

Thyre gritted her teeth. Ever since he had gone, Dagmar had made the daily trek up to the top of the hill to see if she could spy Sven’s horse. After offering to go with her several times and Dagmar finding threadbare excuses why she did not want company, Thyre had stopped bothering. Ever since the advent of Sven, they had drifted apart a little. Dagmar was always keeping little things from her, inconsequential things, but it hurt all the same.

It would be easier in many ways if she just let Dagmar go. At least the sobbing into her pillow at night had stopped. Thyre wished that Dagmar had waited until she was safely married before falling in love. She could not see a happy outcome to this. Ragnfast would never accept the man. He wanted a man with a fortune and a strong sword arm to defend this estate for his daughter. But she would find a way through the tangle after the Viken left.

‘You might be right. A few more men at the feast might help keep fights from starting. Be quick about it, then.’

‘I will be.’ Dagmar gave Thyre a quick kiss on her cheek.

‘You will have to tell your father about Sven some time, Dagmar. He deserves to know. Would you like to practise saying the words with me?’

Dagmar’s eyes slid away from Thyre. ‘I will, but not now. Feasts bring out the worst in him. He starts sampling the ale far too early. Promise me that you won’t say anything either. The last thing we want is for Far to lose his temper and start boasting about how he bested King Thorkell and therefore can beat any man. Remember how the last time he clutched his heart and turned beet red?’

Ice swept through Thyre. ‘I promise to keep silent.’

‘I will be back before the bread is finished. I promise you that. No one will even miss me.’

Thyre watched as Dagmar hurried purposefully from the kitchen. She shook her head, trying to clear it of foreboding. She had done the right thing by lighting the bonfire. She had done the only thing she could. The blood-red moon would be wrong this time. Change was not coming.

The late afternoon air was cool against Ivar’s face after the heat of the bathing hut. The repairs to the ship had gone much as he had foreseen. The storm’s damage was not as great as Erik the Black had feared. The mast appeared sound.

The gods favoured the brave. This bay was perfect for ship building with its stands of straight trees. He would have to open negotiations. Undoubtedly Thyre would find a reason to become involved. There was something about the way she challenged him with her eyes that said she knew more than she was letting on.

He regretted that she had not appeared at the bath hut. Instead a gaggle of simpering and sighing maids had appeared to stoke the fire and make sure it was at the right temperature.

A movement in the shadows caused his muscles to coil. He relaxed slightly when he discerned Thyre’s midnight-black hair. What game was she playing now, scanning the sky as she balanced a basket on her hip? Ivar moved stealthily nearer.

‘Ah, here I discover you, Thyre,’ he said smoothly when he had nearly reached her.

Rather than jumping, she calmly tilted her head to one side. Her tongue wet her lips, making them strawberry red. ‘Were you searching for me?’

‘I have been searching for you or someone like you…for what seems to be a long time.’ Ivar smiled his most seductive smile. Thyre would provide a bit of sport for the evening, but then he would sail away. It was far better than allowing the thrill of the chase to fade and for recriminations to start. No, a single night of pleasure with her suited him.

He waited for the flirtatious sigh.

She lifted her eyebrow and her lips turned down slightly at the corners. ‘Pretty words, Viken. Do I melt at your feet now or can it wait? The feast preoccupies my thoughts for now. Personally, melting has never held much appeal and I’d prefer to postpone the moment if at all possible.’

He drew his brows together, disconcerted. ‘Pretty words for a beautiful woman, but they are sincere. I have been searching for you.’

‘Your life must be very empty, then.’ She tapped her boot against the earth, standing her ground as her hand on her hip emphasised the smallness of her waist.

Ivar schooled his features and waited. He had lost count of how many times he had played these sorts of games. She was tempted despite her protestations. He had forgotten how much fun it could be to spar with a woman, particularly a woman who had brains.

‘You should find something more fulfilling to occupy your time than waiting for women,’ she said.

‘My life is full enough. All I need is the sea and a soft place to lay my head.’ He took a step closer, laid a hand on her shoulder and noticed how her body leant slightly towards him, her breasts brushing his forearm. ‘But right now it is missing something, something I desperately need, something I believe only you can give me.’

‘Desperation can lead to mistakes.’ Her voice had a catch in it. ‘I have learnt to stop searching. You should be content with what you have.’

‘I shall have to give you a reason to start searching again. Discovery can be rewarding.’

Their breath mingled. She would only have to sway slightly and their shoulders would touch. His hands would pull her to him and his mouth would encounter hers. Would it be soft or firm? Ivar wondered.

She moved imperceptibly towards him and he gave into impulse. His mouth touched hers—sweet and firm, inviting.

With an effort Ivar regained control and ended it after the briefest of tastes. She would be the one to beg for the next kiss.

‘Please…’ she whispered and her hands came up to rest on his chest.

‘Please what?’ he inquired softly, but he made no move to recapture her mouth. She had to make the request.

‘Why are you searching? What are you searching for?’

Ivar stepped away and allowed the air to rush between them.

‘At last the question I wanted. Fresh rope for my ship. Two lines broke in the storm.’ He held out his hands and a smile stretched across his face. ‘What else would I be searching for?’

‘Oh, that is…I mean, I had thought…’ Thyre put her hand to her mouth. How had she, who prided herself on avoiding warriors’ seduction, fallen so neatly into his trap? She had allowed him to kiss her. And if he had not stopped…the kiss would have gone on and deepened. She refused to think about what could have happened. Even now, her body longed for his touch. ‘The rope is kept in the outer workshop. One of the thralls can get it for you. You should have said straight away. Then we would not have had to have this conversation.’

‘Is this conversation distasteful?’

‘Unasked for.’ Thyre gave her most crushing nod.

‘Any unasked thoughts are coming from you, Thyre, and not from me.’ He paused, his eyes twinkling like the sea on a summer’s day.

Thyre shifted uncomfortably. Had she been the one? Who had made the first move?

He leant forwards again and lowered his voice to a seductive caress. ‘But you are welcome to share those thoughts with me. Never let it be said that I acted without considering a woman’s wishes. Or forcing her.’

‘No, that is to say…’ Thyre stopped. Her hands touched her mother’s amulet, which hung around her neck, and she regained control. She had more intelligence in her little finger than most warriors possessed in their whole bodies. She gave this warrior’s intelligence far too much credit. He was a man like any other. ‘It is best to be straightforward and honest.’

‘I always am. I find it saves time.’ He tilted his head to one side, assessing her. ‘And you were prepared to offer something else? It is a pity that I was so forthcoming about my request.’

‘I wasn’t prepared to offer anything!’

‘Who are you trying to convince? Me?’ He reached out a finger and traced the outline of her lips in the air above them and instantly they ached as if he had kissed them again. ‘Or you?’

Thyre held her body still, resisting the temptation to turn her face into his palm. Ivar made no move towards her. He simply stood close, waiting, without touching. Each heartbeat seemed to take an age. Thyre knew she should step away, but her feet refused to move.

‘You were mistaken,’ she said evenly. ‘I have no need to convince anyone.’

His face sobered and he stared at her. ‘How long has your stepfather been in this bay?’

Thyre blinked. Ice water crashed through her veins. He thought to confuse her and then to obtain information about the bay and its defences. She should have realised that the Viken jaarl would have a great deal of cunning.

‘Since the king began his reign. He is very proud of his farm. Our goats and sheep are renowned for their wool and milk.’ Thyre gave a careful laugh. She wanted to believe his story about only needing repairs. His ship certainly showed signs of damage, but was there another reason? Who had been chasing whom in that storm? Sigmund had sworn blind that his ships were only for defence, meaning Ivar must have been the attacker.

Had the news of Ragnfast’s quarrel with Sigmund reached Viken ears?

The Viken were notorious in their dealings and she knew how they broke promises. And the worst thing was that she wanted to believe this man. Her blood ran cold when she thought about what he could do before help could arrive.

‘The inlet is a perfect hideaway for ships, ships that could easily prey on undefended trading vessels,’ he continued.

‘Ragnfast does not possess that sort of fleet.’

‘But others in Ranrike do. My king and many of the Viken think the strait is cursed.’

Thyre turned her lips up into a polite smile. Sigmund was doing the Ranrike people a great service. He protected them from raiders, even if Ragnfast refused to let him keep ships in this bay. He would answer the beacon in time. ‘You would have to ask them. I am merely a woman. I have no interest in the sea and trade.’