Stolen By The Viking (Sons 0f Sigurd Series Book 1)

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘I don’t know which suitors Feann was considering.’ She took a sip of the mead and found it sweet. ‘Possibly someone favoured by King Cerball. It matters not now. No man will have me to wife anymore.’ There was no self-pity in her words—they were fact. What man would wed her after she had been held captive by a Lochlannach warrior? No one would believe her if she claimed she was untouched.

  ‘Was there a man you had hoped to marry?’ He tore off a piece of bread, not making eye contact with her. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon Rurik.

  She could hardly believe they were conversing about her future, as if he were a friend. And yet, it was almost too easy to confess her thoughts to a stranger. What did it matter if he knew her innermost feelings? After he returned her to Feann, they would never see each other again.

  And so, she admitted, ‘I was hoping for a kind man, one who has all his teeth.’ She suppressed a grimace at the thought, for it was not uncommon for young noblewomen to be married to older kings.

  ‘What of your parents? Wouldn’t they arrange the match instead of Feann?’

  She shook her head. ‘My parents have been dead for years. Feann has been my foster father since I was two years of age. He allowed me to stay, since I have no living family.’ At least, none that she had ever met. Given a choice, she preferred to remain with the man who had cared for her all these years, rather than strangers. Once or twice, she had asked him about who was governing her homeland, but Feann had been vague about the answers, saying only that her lands at Clonagh had been claimed by King Cerball and were under his protection. Whenever she had asked about them, Feann had warned her to put those thoughts far from her mind. Her father had been executed as a traitor and his lands were forfeit. She didn’t know how her mother had died, but Feann had refused to speak of it.

  The truth was, she felt no connection to Clonagh, since she had never visited the lands. It wasn’t difficult to set aside her legacy and look towards a different future. She had always believed she would live with her husband.

  Alarr poured more mead for her. ‘Do you remember your family at all?’

  Breanne shook her head. ‘Feann was more of a father to me than anyone else.’ She said nothing of her father’s betrayal, for she had been warned never to speak of it, and Feann believed it was dangerous.

  ‘Do you think he claimed your parents’ lands upon their death?’

  Breanne shook her head. Her suspicions rose up at so many questions, but she finished by saying, ‘Feann is not a conqueror. He’s a good man.’

  A sudden darkness came over Alarr’s face, as if he did not care for the king. Breanne ventured, ‘You don’t agree with me, do you?’

  He masked his emotions immediately. ‘I hardly know him.’

  But somehow, she didn’t fully believe him. Alarr stood, and the sudden motion made him catch the edge of the table for balance. He reached for her hand and led her towards the dais. As they walked, she noticed his limp was more pronounced than usual. Perhaps his scowl was from pain instead of something her foster father had done.

  When they reached the table where Styr and Caragh were dining, the young woman smiled at her in friendship. Alarr spoke with Styr in their native language, which Breanne could not understand. Instead, she drew closer to Caragh and asked in a low voice, ‘What are they saying?’

  Caragh answered, ‘Alarr has asked us for men to accompany you to Killcobar. In return, he is offering his services to us.’

  ‘What services?’

  ‘It is time to harvest the grain, and we need many hands to accomplish the work. We are also trying to build the remaining longhouses before the winter sets in. Our people need shelter, and we cannot fit everyone here.’

  ‘So he intends to bargain our labour in exchange for escorts?’

  Caragh nodded. ‘It is reasonable enough. But while Styr may send men to protect you, I do not think they will fight.’

  Breanne nodded and lowered her voice so no one else could overhear her. ‘It would be better if Alarr brought me home without asking for a ransom.’ It was possible that Feann would grant him a reward if he asked for nothing. ‘If he makes a demand for silver, I cannot say what my foster father will do.’

  Caragh’s face turned grave and she spoke quietly to her husband in the Norse language before she turned back to Breanne. ‘We have come to an agreement. You will stay with us for the next fortnight, and afterwards, Styr will send a dozen men to guard you on your journey to Killcobar. But they will remain outside the gates.’ It was clear that they would not allow their own men to face any threats.

  A fortnight was far too long. Breanne shook her head. ‘I cannot remain here for longer than a few days.’

  ‘It will take more time than that to harvest the grain,’ Caragh argued. ‘My men cannot leave until it has been stored for the winter.’

  Breanne understood the woman’s dilemma and tried to find a compromise. Alarr and Styr were engaged in their own conversation, but she still kept her voice low. ‘Will you allow me to send word to my foster father? It might put his mind at rest if I tell him I am staying here by choice.’

  ‘Feann would send only men to fetch you,’ Caragh predicted. ‘And I don’t believe Alarr would let you leave with them.’

  Breanne sobered, knowing that she was right, ‘No. He wouldn’t.’ Although he had unbound her wrist to allow her to eat, she had no doubt that he would bind her again this night. His behaviour was possessive, almost overprotective.

  Alarr stood with Styr, and he sent her a warning look to stay with Caragh. The two men walked down from the dais to speak with Rurik, giving them a measure of privacy.

  Caragh eyed her with sincerity. ‘You must understand why we will not risk a fight within our gates between Feann and Alarr. We will not allow the king’s men inside our settlement. Else it would bring harm to our own people.’

  Frustration blossomed within Breanne when she realised there was no choice but to back down. ‘I can stay for a sennight, but no longer. Afterwards, if you have finished harvesting your grain for the winter, will you send your men to accompany us?’

  Caragh nodded. ‘We will. Or you can leave beforehand, if you believe Alarr and Rurik would provide adequate protection.’

  She hesitated. Although both men were Lochlannach fighters, there was no denying that there were dangers in travelling with such a small group. Two arrows could bring them down, leaving her unprotected.

  ‘You are right,’ she admitted. ‘It would be safer to travel with more men.’

  Caragh brightened. ‘Good. We will be going out to work in the fields in the morning, and we would welcome your help.’

  Breanne was embarrassed to admit the truth. ‘I have never harvested grain before. I know very little about it.’

  ‘The men will cut the stalks, and we will collect the grain and shake the kernels free.’ Caragh said. ‘The women will show you how.’ She stood from her chair and offered, ‘On the morrow, I will show you how to bind back your hair and use the folds of your gown as an apron.’

  Breanne followed her, and as they neared the men, she cast a look at Alarr, waiting for permission. He inclined his head and said, ‘You may go with her.’ Then he added, ‘But do not run away.’

  His warning irritated her, for she did possess honour. Caragh and Styr had offered their hospitality, food, and shelter. She would not try to run—not when she now knew Alarr’s intent was to ransom her. If she bided her time, she would reach home once again. The thought brought an aching within her, the fervent desire to be back at Killcobar.

  And yet, she somehow sensed that it would not be the same again.

  * * *

  Alarr rose at dawn to work alongside the men. Although the morning air was cool, they had stripped off their tunics, wearing only hose. Each man had a scythe for cutting the wheat, and Styr divided the fields so that the men were spread out over
different sections. The sun had just risen, and the scent of ripened grain filled the air.

  Alarr welcomed the physical activity, for it gave him time to think. The motion of swinging the scythe caught him in a rhythm, and he allowed his mind to drift. It was backbreaking work, but he found satisfaction in watching the stalks fall to the ground.

  Behind the men, the women gathered the fallen stalks. He kept a close eye on Breanne to ensure that she had no intention of escaping. She had bound her hair beneath a length of cloth like the other women, and she wore a gown with a wide apron. The women followed behind the men, gathering the stalks of wheat in their aprons, before they returned to place the grain in large baskets. Some of the older women and children were seated with large baskets, running the stalks through their fingers to harvest the wheat berries.

  Alarr turned back to the field, slicing through the grain in a steady motion. He kept his steps slow, to disguise his limp. As he worked, he tried to piece together the faces of the men who had come to his wedding. But the only face that remained constant in his memory was Feann. The king’s men had surrounded the longhouse and set it on fire, slaughtering those inside. The wedding celebration had transformed into a horrifying vision of blood and death. The images were burned into his memory, and he would never forget. Nor could he ever imagine another marriage, if he happened to survive the fight with Feann. The ceremony was tainted with bloodshed for ever.

  He glanced back at Breanne. Her steady look held curiosity, but now that she knew he was taking her home, she seemed content to wait. At least, for a time.

  * * *

  They worked from morning until early afternoon, when Styr called a halt to their harvesting. Caragh arranged for the women to bring meat, cheese, and bread to the labourers, along with pitchers of cold water from the stream. Alarr’s arms were aching, and although it was not warm, he was sweating from the hard work.

  He saw Breanne joining the other women near a large stretch of cloth. They had gathered baskets of wheat berries atop it, and the women each held on to an edge of the cloth, lifting it into the air. They shook the wheat to separate the chaff, and one of the women began singing. Though she did not know their language, he saw Breanne learning the song, and she joined in. The sunlight shone against her face, and she smiled at the other women as she worked and sang.

  For a time, Alarr watched her. Strands of reddish-gold hair framed her cheeks, and she was flushed from the warmth of the sun. Rurik came up beside him and saw the direction of his gaze. ‘Don’t,’ he warned.

  ‘Don’t what?’ Alarr feigned ignorance, though he knew full well what his brother meant. Against his better judgement, he glanced back at Breanne and saw her watching him. Her expression was not one of disinterest, and she flushed before looking away. Alarr turned back, feeling a sense of satisfaction.

  ‘You have to take her back to Killcobar. She’s not yours to keep as a concubine,’ Rurik warned. ‘No matter how fair she is.’

  ‘I know that.’ Even so, it didn’t mean he couldn’t admire what he saw. Alarr walked alongside his brother to a different part of the field and picked up his scythe again. He cut a pathway through the grain, slicing the wheat. Rurik joined him in silence. The exertion felt good, and he was able to hide his limp as he moved slowly. Behind him, the women began gathering sheaves again, and several children helped them. He spied a young girl with dark hair, laughing as she picked up the grain. The sight of the child filled him with a sense of remorse. Had Gilla lived, he might have sired a child by now. But it was more likely that he would never have children.

  He sobered at the thought and glanced at the horizon ahead. One fortnight from now, he would face Feann and gain the answers he sought.

  The desire for revenge had kept him from falling into despair. During the nights of agony while his flesh had knit itself together last year, he had envisioned Feann falling beneath his blade. It had given him a reason to live, for the gods knew he was now worthless as a fighter. The image of Feann’s death was branded in his mind, an inevitable task that he intended to fulfil.

  ‘Alarr,’ his brother interrupted his thoughts, nodding towards the other men. ‘What are your plans to get us inside Killcobar?’

  ‘We will use Breanne’s knowledge of the structure and its defences.’ He needed to know all about the interior of Killcobar, and she would give him the information without even knowing what she’d done.

  ‘She will not tell us anything,’ Rurik predicted. ‘She won’t risk her family for our sake.’

  ‘She won’t know our intentions,’ he answered. ‘I will converse with her about her home and she will not suspect my purpose.’ By the time she learned the truth, it would be too late. She would despise him, but that hardly mattered.

  ‘And once we get inside the fortress?’ Rurik prompted. ‘What then?’

  ‘We will give Breanne back to her father and pretend to leave. I will avenge our father’s death, as we planned.’

  ‘And how will we escape Killcobar? What is your plan to get out?’

  ‘You will already be gone,’ he answered. ‘Feann will want us to leave, and I will ensure that he believes we obeyed.’

  His brother stopped cold and stared at him. ‘Are you trying to die? You’ll be killed the moment you get close to him.’

  He faced his brother. ‘Do not doubt that I can kill him. I am not that weak.’

  ‘You’ve gone weak in the head!’ Rurik exploded. ‘I know you are capable of murdering our enemy, but what I doubt is your ability to survive the fight.’

  Alarr only stared at his brother, saying nothing at all. He had never expected to live through the battle. He would do whatever was necessary to gain his vengeance—even if it meant sacrificing his life in return.

  His brother let out a low curse. ‘Why would you do this, Alarr? I won’t allow it.’

  He picked up his scythe and began walking back towards the others. ‘Because you have no choice.’ He was weary of living his life as less than a man, a broken warrior. Why would it matter if he lost his life? Every man wanted his place in Valhalla, through an honourable death in battle. This was the way, and in surrendering himself, he would avenge those he’d loved.

  And Rurik could do nothing to stop him.

  * * *

  Breanne was finding it difficult to concentrate. Although the women had showed her how to strip away the wheat berries and separate the chaff, she was distracted by the sight of Alarr cutting the grain. With each slice of his blade, his shoulders flexed, revealing his strength. His muscles were thick and hardened from years of training. A few scars revealed tests of battle, and she found herself spellbound by his sun-warmed skin. She could almost imagine him drawing near, a walking temptation. There was no denying her fascination with his body, and it annoyed her. He was her captor. He had bound her in ropes and taken her away as his slave.

  But he never treated you as a slave, her conscience reminded her. He is bringing you home.

  For ransom. It was about silver, she knew. And the sooner her traitorous body accepted it, the better. But she could hardly tear her gaze away from him.

  * * *

  When the afternoon waned, the men put away their scythes and went to the stream to bathe. Caragh helped her gather up a basket of wheat berries, and they walked alongside one another. ‘Thank you for your help,’ the young woman said. ‘Many hands make the task easier.’

  Breanne nodded, noticing that Caragh was walking closer to the stream. It fed into a small lake, and the men had stripped naked and were swimming. She forced herself to look away, but Caragh paused a moment.

  ‘I have spoken to Styr, and we have decided to offer you another choice.’

  She didn’t understand what the woman meant. ‘A choice in what?’ When there came no answer, Breanne glanced up.

  Caragh studied the men, fixing her attention upon her husband before she looked back at h
er. ‘You could leave on the morrow with a small escort of my husband’s men,’ she offered. ‘They would take you within a mile of the gates, and you could return home without Alarr.’

  The offer was tempting, but she pointed out, ‘We both know he would never allow me to go.’

  ‘We believe he has another reason for escorting you home,’ Caragh ventured. ‘One that has little to do with a ransom.’

  She frowned, waiting for the woman to continue. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The kingdom of Maerr is very powerful. Alarr’s family has no need of silver. Their wealth far surpasses ours.’

  A coldness caught Breanne’s spine, and she stared back at Caragh. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But there is another reason why Alarr wants to bring you to Killcobar. And ransom is not a part of it—of that I am certain.’

  Breanne didn’t know what to believe. ‘I know that he wants your men to accompany him,’ she said slowly, ‘but I thought it was for our protection. It’s not safe for only three of us to approach Feann’s stronghold.’

  ‘That might be true,’ Caragh said. ‘But were it me, I would try to find out more.’

  She didn’t understand what the woman was implying. What else was there? He had purchased her and intended to sell her back to her foster father. ‘Alarr will not tell me anything,’ Breanne argued. ‘I am his slave, not his friend. Or, his hostage, I suppose.’

  Caragh only smiled. ‘I have seen the way he looks at you. He desires you, Breanne. And a man’s desire is a good way to get the answers you seek, when his guard is lowered.’

  Breanne faltered at the words. Even now, she was aware of Alarr’s constant attention. He never took his gaze from her for a single moment. When she turned back towards the lake, she saw him watching her. His body gleamed with water droplets, and his hair was wet. He pushed back the water from his face, and his gaze fixed upon hers. She felt a sudden tautness in her body, a yearning she did not expect. ‘I don’t know.’