Norse Hearts

by Robynn Gabel

  Anger tainted her words also. “As you say, mistakes are costly. All my life I have heeded the direction of others. So far, the decisions made for me have given me no peace. If I am to be a Nóregr, I will control my destiny now.”

  Einar’s brows lowered as he grated out, “And who would you choose to share that path with? The thrall Iohannes? Or maybe it would be King Hjörleif’s fair face you would rather see?”

  She flinched, staring at his anger-etched face, thoughts tumbling. Taking a deep breath, her voice came out strong. “We have been through much together. Your offer is an honor. But I will not make the mistake of a loveless union. Look at Bengtha and Roald. Is that what you want?” She raised her hand to his cheek, but he stepped back, his face impassive.

  Pain sliced across her heart. “Einar, I ask you: give me time. I had never considered I would not return home. You have treated me with respect, and I am deeply grateful.”

  His silence cut deep. Frustration swelled within her. Turning, Einar walked back to the longhouse, his steps measured. She lingered in the croft, absently grooming Odinørindi.

  Iohannes joined her down as Dagfinn readied the wagon. “Seraphina, I will pray that God gives you direction. I am taking leave now and hope we will see each other again.”

  Wordlessly, she gave him a hug, failing to hold back the tears. Gently, he wiped them away and went to the wagon.

  Finally, she headed to the longhouse.

  “Seraphina, the goose needs plucking,” Basina ordered as she stepped inside.

  They all went about their chores in a somber atmosphere. Neither Mara nor Ljúfa questioned her, and Einar went to the fields. Life slipped back into its usual rhythm for everyone but Seraphina. Each day brought a little more pain as Einar distanced himself from her.

  22

  Plots and Deceit

  “Never break the peace that good and true men make between you and others.”

  Sweat trickled down the side of King Hjörleif’s face. His knotted shoulders ached, his bicep bulged and strained as he held the stocky arm of his wresling opponent in place. He stared into the squinting green eyes of the man who had accepted his challenge. Grinding his elbow into the wooden table, Hjörleif attempted a surge of power, but the redheaded old man held steady. How had he misjudged this Angles?

  When Hjörleif spotted the red-striped sail of the dragon ship, he wondered who sought passage. He was surprised when the Angles man with a head of wild red hair touched with white at the temple, had jumped off the gunwhale followed by the ship’s owner, Jarl Fridtjof of Breiðoy.

  “What brings you across the North Sea to my shores, Jarl Fridtjof?”

  Hjörleif quickly found out the Angles noble was seeking a woman, and when King Hjörleif heard her name, he realized why the man looked so familiar. After a night of drinking and bargaining, Hjörleif was pleased to gain an alliance with the King of Northumbria through Lord Abbott Forthred, Northumbria’s trusted right hand. But only if Hjörleif would answer the persistent questions about Seraphina’s condition and whereabouts. It had led Hjörleif to make a foolish wager, he thought, as his arm hit the table in defeat.

  “I have entertained you long enough; pay your bet,” Lord Abbott Forthred spit out.

  Wiping the sweat off his face, Hjörleif ordered more mead to be served. Jarl Fridtjof had a sly wisp of a smile as he said, “I told you the old goat was tough. He beat me at a game of Hnefatafl to win his passage here.”

  Hjörleif gulped down a cup of mead, slamming the empty cup on the table. “How did you gain such strength, old man?” he demanded.

  Abbott sat back, swirling the amber colored ale at the bottom of the ornately carved cup. Meeting Hjörleif’s amused gaze, he said, “I do not earn the respect of my king by standing around court. I oversee his affairs, but I work my own holdings. I plough fields and clear the land myself. If you would plough more land and less women, you too would be able to win bets with brawn instead of wit.”

  Hjörleif roared laughter, slapping his guest on the back. “Truly you have worked hard for the truth. I will give you the answers you seek. We sail tonight.”

  The low, mournful tones of the lookout’s horn echoed up the hillside. Einar glanced at the last half of his field that needed to be plowed and hoped it didn’t mean company. The little Fjord mare plodded along, furrow after furrow while Einar’s mind churned over Seraphina’s request.

  It had been so different eight winters ago with shy Káta. He had known from the first time their eyes met that she would be his mate. Two women couldn’t have been more different. Káta had been quiet and sweet, eager to start a life with him. Seraphina was stubborn and outspoken, but she attracted him like no other woman had since Káta’s death. What was it about the fiery vixen that fascinated him so?

  At night, she wandered through his dreams, fueling his need to be with a woman, and during the day, he found himself puzzling over how he could get her to yield to his offer.

  Huffing, Dagfinn ran up the hill toward him. In a breathless rush, he said, “Jarl Roald requires your services. Bengtha is gone.”

  Einar quickly disconnected the mare from the harness and led her down the hillside. “Who did he send?”

  “The ferryman. He is waiting for you on shore. What ship do you need?”

  “Call the men; we will be taking Vindálfr,” Einar said.

  Bursting through the longhouse door, startling the women, Einar gave quick orders.

  “Basina, I am needed in Stafangr—the household is in your care. Ljúfa, pack up my battle gear and put it in the wagon.”

  He avoided looking at Seraphina; it had almost become a habit lately. Quickly changing out of his woolen shirt, he leaned over to wrap leather around the top of his boots when he noticed the skirt of a woman standing in front of him.

  Looking up, he saw Seraphina’s face set in frustration. Her hands rested on her hips.

  He sighed. “Seraphina, I must go. What is your need?”

  “What is going on?”

  For a moment, he wanted to shut her out, and then the memory of a similar moment with Káta flashed across his mind. “I am not sure, but I will leave Elsjorn and Dagfinn with you.” Pointing at a sword hanging in a scabbard on a pole, he said, “I expect you will use that if the need arises, but let us hope it does not.”

  Standing, he looked down into spring-green eyes that had softened. Was it yearning? Desire? He wasn’t able to tell, but he knew he couldn’t leave her with unease between them. Throwing aside his resolve to give her time, he wrapped his arms around her and plundered the treasure of her lips. Her eager response unsettled him. They both were breathing hard when he pulled back.

  Lowering his head, he muttered softly in her ear, “You will answer me when I get back.”

  He strode out the door to the waiting wagon.

  Staring out at the island of Buøy, Einar stood in the bow. His voice broke through the slosh of the waves against the ship’s hull. “How did she escape her guard?”

  “He was ambushed, his throat slit. I do not think Bengtha did it. Someone helped her.”

  Normally the brisk wind in his face and feeling the reverberation of the wood hull powering through the water would have lightened Einar’s mood, but his mind was filled with questions. “No way she escaped by boat or ship?”

  The ferryman’s gentle eyes became a stormy gray, narrowing. “Are you doubting me?”

  Einar shook his head. “Ekki, but what other way is there? Where is Gunnar?”

  “His ship is still in port, and he was with us all morning.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Einar said, “When Ragnvald jumped ship, we thought he had boarded the other one. Could we have been wrong?”

  The lapping waves almost drowned out the ferryman’s growl. “I do not know, but I will find out.”

  The dusk was deepening when Seraphina came from the fields where she had been planting for most of the day. It felt good to be doing something familiar. A raven’s dark call brou
ght goose bumps over her arms. She looked up as it wheeled in the sky. Following the shepherd’s path in the dimming light, she felt the emptiness of Einar’s three day absence. It had healed the rift between them when he’d kissed her, but she still worried about his demand.

  Looking around at the weathered rock, it brought back the memory of the stark beauty of the fjords he had shown her. They had been rough, raw, and jagged. Not gently sloped like Dusavik, but gashes of hewn rock, as if giants had fought there, leaving large sections carved in axe slashes. She knew it was a harsh land, but one she could make her home.

  What would she do if she didn’t accept Einar’s proposal? Was there such a thing as a mercenary shield-maiden? She smiled at that thought. He had hinted there was much wealth in her gold cross. Was it enough to buy land? There were many things she still had to learn about this strange country.

  Seraphina felt the sudden heat in her cheeks as she blushed, thinking about the responses his touch created in her body, but was that really love? Her life had always been organized and directed by others; now she felt adrift, worried about the future.

  In the dusk’s waning light, Ljúfa came slowly up the path. Her shoulders were slumped, and she hugged herself. The back of her hand swiped at her eyes, Seraphina hurried to her.

  “What is going on? Are you all right?”

  Ljúfa shook her head. “Móðir and I argued. She called me lazy. The tunics were not scrubbed hard enough, she said.” The girl held out her hands, the knuckles red and rough. “I did scrub, Seraphina; I did. Then she told me….” A sob interrupted. “She told me she never wanted me. I was just a burden. She could have run away sooner, but she became pregnant. Now she says she is leaving and she doesn’t care if I come or not.” Her last words were gasped in pain before she wrapped her arms around Seraphina.

  Seraphina held the girl until the sobs receded. “Let us go see what Basina is talking about. I am sure you both were angry and said things that were not meant.”

  The girl hung back, shaking her head. “Móðir has been meaner lately. There have been many messages sent back and forth between Gunnar and her. She has been planning something, but I do not know what.”

  Reaching for her hand, Seraphina said, “I am not afraid of her. If she comes at us, I will use my staff to knock some sense into her. This has to stop.” She started down the path with a determined stride, holding the hand of the scared girl who trotted to keep up with her.

  The wagon sat in front of the longhouse. There were several chests stacked in the back of it. The little Fjord mare dozed in the harness, patiently waiting. Inside, Seraphina saw that there were more chests stacked against the wall, and the fire was unattended. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of Basina. She wore a black dress that had a scooped neck and wide bands of red-and-gold trim. Long sleeves hung from her elbows, and raven-black hair gleamed in intricate braids.

  Ljúfa let go of Seraphina’s hand and sidled away. Seraphina grabbed a few logs.

  “What is happening here?” She threw wood on the fire, turning to face Basina in its light.

  A beautiful smile brought Basina’s normally downturned lips up. “What is happening, you simple Angles, is that I am going home.”

  Seraphina let a stiff smile form on her own lips. “Where is home, Basina? I thought it was here, with your children.”

  There was something off. Basina was too relaxed, as if she waited for someone or something to happen. Feeling vulnerable with Einar absent, she knew Dagfinn was in the village for a new wagon wheel. Elsjorn had been plowing an upper field with the ox.

  Basina continued, “I am going back to my home village of Flanders. My dear son found that I have a brother and sister still alive. I need to get the stench of Nóregr out of my nostrils.”

  “Móðir, I do not want to leave.” Ljúfa cried out.

  Seraphina watched Basina’s face become a cold mask. “You may do as you like, Ljúfa. Stay if you want. I am a freeborn Frankish ladye, of the Merovingian line, not a slave to Nóregr pigs. Do you think I loved your father? I did what I needed to survive. I am leaving now, with or without you.”

  Ljúfa put her hands over her face and fled. Seraphina felt a sick churning in the center of her belly and a very strong desire to slap the woman. “Are you going by ship?” She couldn’t remember hearing a horn sounding the arrival.

  The faint drumming of hooves grew in sound until they stopped suddenly outside of the hall. The door opened, and Gunnar stepped through. Seraphina’s breath hitched. Basina ran for his arms. Gunnar’s and Seraphina’s gaze locked over the top of his mother’s head. His lips slid into a sneer.

  “Móðir, let me in; we have guests.” He moved aside, and three cloaked people stepped inside.

  Seraphina’s heart tripped in warning. Her gaze wandered around nonchalantly, searching for the handiest weapon. Seeing the sword Einar had pointed out to her, she started edging toward it but froze as the other figures lifted their hoods.

  Dressed as a thrall, her hair matted, covered in soot and ash, Bengtha still carried a haughty manner as she let her cold gaze sweep over Seraphina with disdain. “So, Einar the Love-sick left his little mare behind.”

  Seraphina kept the stiff smile plastered on her face. “This humble house does not do justice to the beauty of Bengtha the Proud,” she flung back.

  The second figure threw back his hood, and she recognized the family resemblance immediately in the black hair and high cheekbones of the man.

  “Lothar,” Basina cried, throwing herself into her brother’s arms.

  The last hood came off, and Seraphina felt her blood freeze in her veins. With a simple peasant shirt and dirty woolen pants, he would have passed as a farmer of the area. Ragnvald’s little pig eyes lit up when he saw her.

  Seraphina was finally in position to grab the sword. She waited and watched Basina’s brother as he held his sister’s face between his hands, gazing down at her. Quiet words passed between them in a language she didn’t understand. Gunnar had stretched out on a bench at the table, watching his mother and uncle.

  “Mara, bring some ale for our guests,” Seraphina cajoled.

  Ragnvald boomed again, “Hurry, thrall; it was a long ride on that ugly beast, and I thirst!”

  Mara scrambled off, fetching cups and ale. Ragnvald sat down, and his sister joined him. When no one was looking, Seraphina quietly slid the sword from the scabbard, hiding it beneath her tunic. Tightening her belt under the hilt of the sword, it precariously held it in place between her tunic and underdress. She would have to move carefully, but all she wanted was one moment of opportunity to sink its sharp blade into Ragnvald or Gunnar.

  Gunnar’s gaze found her in the shadows. “Come, Seraphina, I yearn to tell you what the skald will sing of my deeds.”

  She approached the table slowly, standing behind a chair and resting her hands on its back. “Let me ask you a question first. Where did the ferryman take you the night I went to the Black Feather?”

  His eyes widened, and he gulped his ale down quickly. “How did you know I was there?”

  “I saw you come back, but I did not see what ship you came from.”

  Ragnvald’s laughter sounded harsh in the hall. “You chose the wrong woman to do your spying, Gunnar. How did you miss her?”

  Bengtha smacked her brother’s arm.

  Gunnar’s eyes narrowed. “You always seem to be in the wrong place, Seraphina. I was taking information from the war council to my uncle, Lothar. It was his cargo ship that got away from Einar, even though the fool had the faster ship.”

  “True, but where’s your loyalty to your brother or jarl, Gunnar?”

  “Let me tell you why I had a change of loyalty. At Breiðoy, I realized I would never impress Roald. I have been second to that níðingr Einar long enough. I met my uncle last year when we raided and captured Bengtha. Between my uncle’s connections and hatred of the Nóregr, several restless jarls, and with Bengtha’s gratitude for an inside ally and Danish connections
, I formed an alliance to take down Roald. The Danes will take out King Hjörleif, my mother gets to go home, Bengtha will be reunited with her family, and I will be Jarl of Stafangr.”

  Seraphina’s teeth worried at her bottom lip, trying to put all the pieces together. Tipping up her chin defiantly, she put on her best look of disdain. “You may think you have planned well, but Einar will figure it out.”

  “Já, I have planned long and hard, including getting my hands on you. I will make Einar watch as I take you, again and again—what is it he calls you—smár hyrr?”

  Her stomach twisted but her voice held strong. “You were in on the war council; they will be well fortified.”

  Gunnar snorted. “Roald has support from east and north, but I have all the jarls northwest of him. Between us all, we have fourteen ships and their crews. But Roald has forgotten his biggest weakness: the land between here and there, filled with simple farmers, not warriors. It was easy to hide Ragnvald on my ship until everyone thought the threat was passed. Ragnvald got Bengtha out by killing her guard.”

  He waved his hand toward Bengtha. “I think she disguised herself well. It was nothing to get here by horseback since Roald had all the ships being watched. Já, Roald has the port, but that is all. We will block the inlet entrance near Buøy, keeping King Hjörleif busy while the other ships land here, and the men will travel inland. We will trap them in the harbor. If Ragnvald had successfully raided that night, we would not have to be doing this now. Someone informed Einar where you were and brought him right into the midst of things.”

  Seraphina looked over at Bengtha. “No wonder you were so helpful. You knew your brother was in the harbor. What was on that rune stick?”

  Bengtha shrugged. “I could see it in your eyes—you were already planning on running; I just used it for my benefit. Ragnvald needed to know the number of men who were in the hall and had pledged to Roald, before deciding to attack. If it was a greater number than we thought, I needed to warn Ragnvald. Gunnar and I knew it would be easy for me to get the information to Ragnvald, and he would warn Lothar. But Roald began to suspect someone was disloyal. He assigned a guard to me that night, supposedly to protect me. I knew Gunnar could not get to both; it might have given them all away, and besides, Gunnar had to leave before I could warn him Roald was suspicious, and I could not shake my guard.”