Falling For Her Viking Captive

To his utter astonishment, she set the lamp down on the ground and left, her footsteps echoing down the walkway. He counted ten footfalls before she made her way up the steps leading out of the cellar. There were twelve of those. The door scraped across the stone step as it clanged shut behind her.

Letting out a curse, he banged the heel of his hand against the bars until pain vibrated up his arm. His gaze fell on to the buckets she had mentioned that he had not noticed before. Indeed, one was filled with water and the other was empty. Gingerly picking up the one with water, he moved it across the cell and sat down on the straw to take a long drink and cure his parched throat. It tasted of oak, but was otherwise clean.

The only good thing to come of the exchange was that he was fairly certain Wilfrid was here. His initial questions for the villagers in Glannoventa had produced troubling answers. It seemed that no one had seen Wilfrid for quite some time. One shopkeeper had told him that he was off travelling and spent most of his time in the company of the Northumbrian King. Another had told him that Wilfrid was visiting the Dane, Jarl Eirik, in the east. A fisherman’s wife had overheard and laughed, saying that he was chasing a ghost. Wilfrid had not been seen since early summer. There were rumours that he had died. It seemed that no one knew the whereabouts of their lord.

At least now Rurik knew he was close. Annis had not said he was not here, only that Rurik should send his message through her. But then, she had not said Wilfrid was here either. Rurik had allowed his anger to take control, knowing that anger would not serve him well in this. Perhaps he had used the wrong tactic to deal with her. She was obviously proud and given to righteous indignation. It would have been better to attempt to charm her and remind her of how easy things had been between them earlier in the tavern than to attack her with his words.

The problem was that he did not know how to go about it. He had never worried about charming a woman. The women in his past had made it known that they were interested in a quick tumble and he had obliged them. He had no immediate interest in marriage so he had never had the need to speak pretty words. He cursed again and fell back on his straw bed. If only Danr were here, he would have already found a way to charm her into the cell.

The scrape of the door above the steps woke him. Rurik sat up, surprised to find he had slept. The herbs must have lingered in his blood, luring him to sleep as he had lain on his bed of straw wondering how to proceed. He felt much better this morning. There was still an ache in his head, but it no longer throbbed. Whatever had been put into his ale had passed so he felt like himself again. The steady scrape of boots on stone told him Annis returned even before the light from the oil lamp lit up her hair.

She stood before him in a finely made gown of blue wool, embroidered with amber-coloured thread at the sleeves. A cloak in a deeper shade of blue clung to her shoulders, this one without a hood. She looked every bit the Lady of Glannoventa and he wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a common wench at the tavern. It wasn’t simply her clothing or the way she held herself that made her appear noble. There was something in her face, her eyes as she gave him a cool, superior look, that placed her in that class.

Something akin to attraction swirled in his belly. Akin, because had it been mere attraction, he could have identified it as such. Last night he would have called it something as base as desire. This was more. It was admiration and awe mixed with temptation. The effect was staggering. He could see himself clearly for the fool he had been at their previous meeting. Matching words with her would not get him what he wanted.

‘Lady Annis.’ He was sure to keep his tone even, though fury still burned through his veins.

The quirk of one eyebrow was the only acknowledgement of her surprise. ‘Norseman.’

Hoping that he adequately disguised his anger, he asked, ‘Are you here because you’ve reconsidered letting me out? Because if so, I accept your offering of peace.’ It was a horrible jest, but it seemed to work.

Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile and he breathed a little easier. This would go much faster if he could rekindle their ease from the tavern.

‘I am sorry to say that I cannot.’ She looked down at the food she had brought, a bowl of some sort of stew in a thin broth. ‘Here. I do not intend for you to go hungry.’

The bowl was just small enough to fit between the bars. She did not seem to worry that he might grab her hand or otherwise harm her. Whether that was from sheer arrogance, or inexperience, he did not know. Though harming her while still being locked inside would hardly get him anywhere, so perhaps she merely took him for a reasonable man.

A memory came to him from several years ago, long before the massacre. He and his twin had been sent on a mission by their father to a kingdom in the south. The purpose of the voyage had been so minor that Rurik could not recall the specific details, but one of their stops along the way had been at a farm where they had spent the night. The home had been crowded with several families living there and several of the various daughters had taken a liking to them. Danr, however, had only wanted the haughty one who also happened to be the most beautiful. Likely because of her disinterest, she had been sent to serve them their meal and Danr had set about charming her. The girl had stood little chance and, before the night was over, she had figured out a way to disappear with him outside.

Rurik stared into Annis’s eyes and, when he reached forward, he allowed his fingertips to brush over the tender inside of her wrist. It was a gentle touch, but it was enough. Just as the haughty daughter had reacted to Danr’s touch, so Annis did to his. Her lips parted silently and she dropped her gaze to his touch. Most tellingly, she stepped back as he took the bowl from her. Rurik found himself swallowing the tiny flame of awareness that warmed his own hand. Disgust at himself mingled with that attraction and he did not know what to do with the competing notions.

‘I need you to tell me why you demand to see Wilfrid.’ She spoke as if the moment had not happened.

Shaking his head, he said, ‘I must talk to him myself. I misspoke last night. It has nothing to do with you being a woman and more to do with the fact that the matter is private. I would determine whether he is the Wilfrid I seek before casting public accusations.’ He did intend to verify the man had been at the wedding before killing him. He had resolved not to involve any more innocents if it could be avoided.

‘I am his only relation and a trusted advisor. You can tell me and I can assure you it will not become public.’

Rurik shook his head. ‘I will not speak to anyone but Wilfrid.’

If he spoke about the massacre to anyone, Rurik was certain he wouldn’t live to draw his next breath. His only hope was to try to talk himself out of this somehow.

‘As you will. Enjoy your day.’ She turned on her heel and stormed out, much as she had before.

Rurik lingered at the bars, gratified the touch had worked. It would be like chipping away at the stone of a mountain to make a path through, but she would soften towards him. He need not seduce her. Merely making her see him as a man and not an enemy would be enough to assure his survival…for a while.

The difficult part would be not falling under her spell as he did so. She was beautiful and there was something in her eyes that he had never seen before. It called to him to match wits with her. However, that was a dangerous proposition. He did not believe that she had knowledge of the events in Maerr and Wilfrid’s hand in them—he hoped she was not involved—but the fact that she was a relation of Wilfrid’s was enough. His sham of a flirtation could not lead to more.

Letting out a curse that was absorbed into the damp stone walls, Rurik evaluated his options. Unfortunately, he was left with the same conclusion he had already come to. He had to befriend the woman. It was the only way he could think to get himself out of this. The very idea of befriending anyone related to Wilfrid set his teeth on edge. The bastard had led men into Maerr with the intention of killing Sigurd, or so Rurik was left to assume, except Ingrid and Gilla and many other innocents had died alongside his father. They had done nothing to deserve their fate and yet Wilfrid had delivered it to them regardless.

Many would say he would be justified in visiting vengeance upon Wilfrid in kind. If his father had lived, he would have led men to Glannoventa’s shores and burned the whole village, slaughtering all who stood between him and revenge. Rurik could not condone the slaughter of innocents, so he would use Annis and whomever else he needed to get to the men who had committed the unforgivable crimes.

Chapter Three

‘Annis?’

The sharp sound of her name caught her off guard as she locked the door to the cellar behind her. Letting the key fall back in place on the ring at her waist, she took in a breath and turned to face Cedric, the man in charge of Wilfrid’s warriors. His old and dear face was lined with concern as he approached her.

Her parents had sent her to be raised by Wilfrid at the age of eight after their home had been invaded by Danes. They had deemed it safer in the west and, since she had been betrothed to Wilfrid’s son, Grim, moving here had been a logical measure. As a result, Cedric had been a great source of comfort and support to her for more than half of her life. Even more so when Wilfrid’s health had begun to decline in recent years after Grim’s death, leaving the weight of Glannoventa to land on her capable shoulders.

Cedric was a dear friend and advisor and she longed to have his guidance in this. Yet, however much she trusted him, it would be best if he kept away from the Norseman. He was the only one who was truly innocent in this entire tragedy, and she hoped that it would stay that way.

‘So it is true. You took the Norseman.’ His brow was furrowed in both anger and concern as he closed the distance between them.

‘Alder told you?’ While she had not expected the events of the previous night to stay secret, she had hoped to break the news to Cedric herself.

‘Is it true?’

Nodding, she said, ‘I took him his morning meal. He’s fine.’ Ready to spit fire because he was so angry, but otherwise fine.

‘You should allow someone else to deal with him.’

It would suit her if no one knew that the Norseman was down there, but, unfortunately, that was impossible. While no one had seen them load him into the cart and they had kept him covered on the short drive from the village, she had no doubt that a vigilant servant would have seen them taking him downstairs and she could not hide the fact that she took him food. Servants would eventually begin to talk.

‘He is my responsibility,’ she said.

Losing her unborn child so soon after her husband’s death had left Annis with a well of grief so deep it seemed she would never be whole again. The need for revenge had filled the empty spaces they had left behind in her heart. This was her mission. She wanted to limit the involvement of the others as much as possible.

Cedric’s scowl deepened. Something in his face had always reminded her of a handsome falcon. His nose was prominent and blade straight with well-shaped nostrils. That, combined with a lean face and high cheekbones, would have been enough. But his eyes completed the impression, since they were dark and observant, always taking in what was happening. In her childhood, he was often the one who would catch her in some mischief before she had scarcely started it.

‘The danger to you is too great to allow—’ He abruptly broke off at the sound of footfalls. Gently taking hold of her arm, he led her down the wide corridor.

Their home occupied the ruins of the praetorium in the old Roman fort. Wilfrid and his ancestors had prided themselves on caring for the structure. Most of the walls had been maintained with new stone and plaster over the centuries, as had the roof. As the original commander’s home, it was built in the Roman style with rooms surrounding an atrium and a courtyard. This was where Cedric led her now. It was the one place no one would disturb them and had been the setting for many of her childhood lectures. Once she had come to live with Wilfrid, Cedric had wasted no time in picking up those lectures where Father Cuthbert had left off. She nearly rolled her eyes as she might have years ago.

Closing the great wooden double doors behind them, Cedric turned to face her. ‘You must not see to the prisoner, Annis. Let someone else do it.’

‘You do not understand. I must do it myself.’

‘I do not understand?’ He waved his hands in agitation before settling them on his hips. ‘If he were to escape, he would harm you.’

She inclined her head in acknowledgement of his concern for her. ‘Please trust that you and Grim taught me well. I can use the dagger at my hip and am fast when speed is needed.’

His sharp gaze caught on the dagger at her hip. ‘It’s not your skill that I question, child, but your experience with this particular type of beast. You have never faced an opponent with nothing to lose. He is trapped down there and would harm even himself if it meant any hope of escape.’

Suddenly, things did not seem quite so clear to her. Even though there was a peal of truth to his words, she said, ‘That is a bit of an exaggeration. He’s hardly a beast.’

‘He is,’ Cedric said without hesitation. ‘For all that he is a man, he is chained and kept in a cage. Soon the animal will win out and he’ll be acting on instinct. He is a heathen Norse. They cannot be trusted to take into account refinements.’

‘What refinements?’

‘That you are a woman. That you are the lady of this household.’

Her heart pounded in response to the vision that brought to mind, causing her to place a hand on her breast to attempt to settle it. She did not particularly like it that she might be the one responsible for turning a man into an animal. She also did not think that any man, Norse or otherwise, would take into account that she was a woman if he escaped. She had learned to fight because she would be treated as a warrior.

Deciding to ignore that, she said, ‘He is being cared for. He is chained, but he can move about freely. He has food and water.’

‘Food and water, but the threat of death hangs over his head.’

Pain beat behind her temple. Cedric was right. The scene he described was very accurate. She had put that man in a cage and he would soon turn into a raving beast. Guilt and self-loathing ate at her from the inside. She had taken a terrible turn of events—the fact that he had come here seeking vengeance—and made them even worse. If anyone should be in a cage it should be her and that Gael assassin who had gone to Maerr and killed with Wilfrid’s coin in his purse.

But what could she have done differently? She could not allow the Norseman to wander free, not when he wanted them dead. Not when the pain of her own loss was sometimes so keen it still had the power to take her breath away.

‘Annis?’ She did not realise that she had been pacing until Cedric touched her shoulder to stop her. His eyes were kind with concern as he said, ‘Tell me who this man is.’

‘I—I am not certain.’ She regretted the lie as soon as it was spoken. It sat like ash on her tongue.

His knowing gaze combined with her guilt stripped away the layers of her reluctance. ‘Then tell me who you suspect him to be. I cannot help you if I do not understand what we might be up against.’

He was right. Again. He was nearly always right, yet she could not bear to tell him. Or perhaps it was more that she could not bear him to know what she had done. She could hardly face the truth these last two years, much less confess her crime to him.

Stifling a groan of protest, she turned away and sat down on one of the many benches that lined the courtyard. In spring and summer, she planted flowers in the beds that filled the gaps between them, but they were dormant now with winter upon them. She had been too caught up in her own anguish to notice the cold, but she felt it now as it seeped from the wood of the bench through her clothing. As if her cloak were a bandage that could bind her hidden pain, she pulled it tight around her.

Cedric sat quietly beside her, his strong presence as calm and reassuring as always. Annis knew she had to tell him what she had done. If this Norseman was from Maerr as she suspected, then more would follow. Cedric deserved to know why.

Despite how strong she claimed to be, Annis had always suspected that she was very weak on the inside where it counted. After her Aunt Merewyn had been kidnapped by Danes, her parents had not wanted to chance another raid, so they had sent her to Wilfrid’s home. Annis had pretended to be glad. Without Merewyn there to care for her, she had not wanted to stay with them anyway. Her father was so busy she wondered sometimes if he even remembered her name, while her mother had never shown much interest in her. It had been easier to believe that she welcomed the move than to acknowledge the pain she harboured from their ease at ridding themselves of her. It did not mean the pain did not exist, it simply meant that she could not face it.

It was the same now. She had been sent to Wilfrid’s household with the understanding that she would marry Grim when she was old enough. She had not chosen Grim, but she had loved him. At first like a much older, distant cousin, but that had slowly begun to deepen after their marriage. It had hurt her when he had been killed and even more so when the babe in her womb had soon followed. While she had acknowledged that pain to an extent, it had been easier to plan revenge. When Wilfrid had nurtured that anger, it had been no problem at all to watch it grow until it had been all-consuming, driving out any thoughts of pain, of vulnerability.

She was not strong at all. Pain was something she carried around with her constantly. If she were a strong person, that pain would not hurt nearly as bad as it did. Perhaps if she wasn’t fighting against that pain, she might have made better choices.

‘Annis.’ Cedric took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze in silent encouragement.

She could not meet his eyes as she spoke, so she set her gaze to the silver and black hair at his temple. ‘Do you remember when I left two summers ago to go to Merewyn’s bedside?’

Merewyn had returned from the Norse lands with her Dane husband years ago and had taken up residence on the eastern coast. Her husband, Jarl Eirik, oversaw the Dane relations in the area Annis had called home as a small child. Annis had a fondness for her aunt and had spent time with her over the years, even if it did mean spending time with the Danes as well. ‘She was bedridden during the final months of carrying her last child?’

Cedric nodded. ‘I remember.’

‘Going to her bedside was merely an excuse to get away. I never saw her. Instead, I went to Maerr.’

‘Where the devil is Maerr?’

‘The Norse lands to the east. The home of Sigurd, the King of Maerr.’

Recognition dawned in his eyes at that name. Several years ago, before the killing in Maerr, Wilfrid had been part of a plan to assassinate Sigurd. Since Danes were scarce in the area, the Norse had come with the intent of staying. The Danes were already squeezing Glannoventa from the east, so Wilfrid wanted to stop this potential invasion by more outsiders. He had recruited Grim in his failed plan to kill Sigurd. Not only had they not assassinated Sigurd, but they had both received extensive injuries from the attack. It had taken many weeks, but Grim had died a gruesome, agonising death. Annis had tended him faithfully, but she hadn’t been able to help him. Unfortunately, she had lost the child she had been carrying soon after Grim’s death. The boy would have been their first child.

‘Sigurd…the one who wanted to take over Glannoventa,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘The same man. After he caused Grim’s death, Wilfrid became more determined than ever to kill him. Around two years ago, the hired men Wilfrid and Grim had used in their first attempt came for a visit. They had heard about an upcoming wedding in Maerr for one of Sigurd’s sons. It was an excellent opportunity to get close to the King, as many guests had been invited from all over. They wanted to know if Wilfrid wanted to be a part of another attempt.’

‘And of course Wilfrid wanted a part.’ The bitterness in Cedric’s tone was not lost on her. Wilfrid had not shared this with even his most trusted man.

Squeezing his hand gently, she said, ‘He did, but was too ill to go.’ A huff of air escaped Cedric, so she touched his shoulder to offer him some solace. ‘Wilfrid did not want you to know, because he knew you would not approve. He did not want you to be a part of it in case it went badly again.’

‘But you were a part of it? You went in Wilfrid’s place?’ He could not keep his disbelief from his voice.

Shaking her head, she said, ‘Wilfrid does not know that I went. I overheard a bit of their conversation, so I knew he paid them some up front. I approached the assassins secretly and demanded to be a part of it. I did not trust them not to run off with the coin and never set foot in Maerr.’ She looked down at her lap. Her voice lowered when she added, ‘The truth is that I also wanted revenge for Grim and our child. I wanted to see Sigurd dead myself to know that he was punished for their deaths.’ She also felt that by losing her babe, she had failed to give Wilfrid the only part of his beloved son that was left. It was only right that she participate to help bring some sort of justice for their family’s losses.

Cedric rose to his feet as the implications of her words settled over him. ‘Then this Norseman—the one who arrived yesterday—is from Maerr?’

‘I believe that he may be.’

‘Do you recognise him? Does he recognise you?’

She shook her head and rose to stand before him, hurrying to explain. ‘We have learned that his name is Rurik and he arrived yesterday on a ship looking for Wilfrid. I believe that he might be one of Sigurd’s many sons. As we were waiting for the wedding to begin, I learned all their names in case something like this came to pass. However, I never saw the one named Rurik. He was away.’

Though she had met one of them up close. Sandulf. He had been barely more than a boy, but he had marked her. The scar he had left on her lower back throbbed with her guilt.

‘And your mission was a success. Sigurd was killed,’ Cedric concluded. Word had reached them of Sigurd’s death months later.

‘He was killed, but not because of me or the assassins.’ When she closed her eyes, she could relive the mad fury that had broken out in the hall. The whole place had erupted into a battle. ‘We did not know it, but there were others there who had come with the same intentions. Someone else killed Sigurd.’

And the others. So many others had died when it was only supposed to be Sigurd. The men Wilfrid had hired had battled for their lives against the other warriors. The Gael, their leader, was the one who had broken from the plan. He had attacked a pregnant Norse woman, a wife of one of the sons, and brutally killed her. Annis had tried to stop him, but she had been too late to intervene.

‘Then why has Rurik come?’ Cedric asked, breaking up her thoughts.

Annis shrugged. ‘The longhouse was chaos. It is possible that no one knows who drew the blade on Sigurd. And there were other deaths that he would want to avenge.’ The blonde woman, her belly swollen with child, had met a gruesome end beneath the Gael’s sword. The memory of her death was burned into Annis’s mind. She had relived it so many times that she could recall the exact pitch of the woman’s scream and how she had reached out into the empty air in the end, hoping to be saved.