The Viking Maiden Box Set

by Kelly N. Jane

“I smell roasting meat,” Plintze answered.

  Selby groaned. “If we make decisions based on the dwarf’s stomach, we are inviting a lot of trouble.”

  “It won’t hurt to have a hot meal and some conversation, don’t you think?” Ingrid whispered toward the ground, so the men couldn’t hear her. “They don’t seem like the others.”

  Jorg continued to watch the waiting men. “No, I suppose not, but no one—” he turned and stared hard at Ingrid “—no one, lets their guard down. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Ingrid answered with a smirk. What’s with that look? I’ll track any danger just like you.

  “Agreed,” Selby and Plintze said together.

  “If someone has a splinter, you’ll run off alone to help without a second thought, and that can’t happen,” Jorg said, his voice low while still staring at Ingrid.

  “All slivers will fester then. Will that do?”

  Jorg smiled wickedly at her. “Yes.” Turning his focus again on the men, and sliding a neutral expression back onto his face, he called out, “We accept your invitation.”

  10

  The men walked forward, the speaker with a fast stride and the other hesitantly falling in behind. Jorg also closed the gap, and the rest kept step with him until they were within arm’s length. The speaking man extended his hand to Jorg, and they greeted each other.

  “I’m Bremen, and this is Greer,” he said.

  About as tall as Jorg’s six-foot frame, Bremen appeared near the same age, yet broader through the shoulders and equally muscled. His hair was a lighter shade, a sandy blonde, and was drawn up in a knot at the back of his head.

  Several days’ worth of stubble covered his angular jaw in the same shade, framing a full set of lips. Under long, dark lashes, hazel eyes sparkled with confidence and independence.

  Jorg introduced himself and went around the group offering all their names. He scrunched his brows at Selby, who had a doe-eyed expression while looking at Bremen. She blushed when she saw the twitch in Jorg’s mouth as he fought a knowing grin.

  “It is fascinating to meet a dwarf. I’ve only heard tales of your kind,” Bremen said.

  “Are you going to share that meat with us?” Plintze asked, ignoring Bremen’s comment.

  Ingrid and Selby both winced. “You’ll soon discover that dwarves are better companions when they are well-fed,” Jorg offered by way of an apology.

  Bremen only laughed. “Then let us move on to the fires where, yes, there is roasting meat, and you may have as much as you’d like.”

  “He didn’t mean that, Plintze. Behave yourself,” Ingrid said in a rush.

  Bremen laughed again, harder than before, and Ingrid snapped her head to Selby as she giggled along with him. Greer kept a grim expression, but the entire group moved toward the campsites in a tense yet sociable mood.

  Ingrid bumped into Selby’s side as they walked toward the camps. “You giggled,” she whispered.

  Selby blushed and stared into the ground, not offering explanation or apology.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before, not even over Hagen.” Ingrid grinned and shook her head. Leaning in closer, she whispered, “He is rather handsome, though.”

  Jorg tipped his head and looked over his shoulder before turning back to the front with an eye roll. Not as much as you, of course. She snickered under her breath when she saw his dimple flash.

  Bremen stopped the group and spoke to Greer. “Hurry forward and make everyone aware that our new companions will be joining us, so there is no concern when we arrive.”

  “Yes, s—”

  “And,” Bremen interrupted, “be sure to remind everyone that the prince’s whereabouts are still to remain hidden. Is that understood?”

  Greer scowled for a split second before giving a quick nod. “Yes, I understand, and I will prepare the way for everyone’s arrival.”

  Ingrid shivered. Something about Greer bothered her. Whether it was his small raven-like eyes or his constant scowl that even his full beard and mustache couldn’t hide, she wasn’t sure. But, he made her uncomfortable.

  Bremen turned back to the group as Greer jogged toward the camp. “Better to give warning than cause a commotion.”

  “Why, if I may ask, is your prince in hiding?” Jorg asked. Stiff with coiled muscles, he stood taller than he had a few minutes before.

  “Unfortunately, that was a necessary precaution as we traveled through unfamiliar territory. We thought it the best way to keep him safe.”

  Jorg studied Bremen with a slight grin. “It’s a shame that we won’t be able to meet him,” he said.

  Bremen nodded. “Yes, it is.” He held himself with a strong posture yet seemed relaxed as he held Jorg’s stare with the competitiveness worthy of a Norseman.

  “Are we going to stay here all night?” Plintze grumbled.

  “Pardon me, let’s continue,” Bremen said, marching forward and leading the group while Jorg moved to follow behind Ingrid and Selby.

  When they neared the camp, Plintze, who had been striding with purpose, slowed and drifted back to Jorg’s side.

  “There are more fires than it looked like before.”

  “I noticed the same thing,” Jorg whispered. Neither of them broke their gaze from the large number of men ahead of them. “You travel with a lot of men,” Jorg called to Bremen.

  “Yes, well, it is an unsettled time in Ireland. It requires the king’s attention, but even so, he insisted on a large showing in Mercia.”

  “How fortunate he had so many men to spare at such a time.”

  Bremen gave Jorg a questioning look but nodded. They reached the outskirts of the camp, and many men rose to their feet when the small party walked by, creating an uneasy tension. Even Bremen appeared uncomfortable with the actions and occasionally made motions for them to stay seated. Ingrid and Selby walked a little closer to each other when they saw the unexpectedly large number of men.

  Hidden somewhat between the others, Plintze walked unseen through the men sitting around fires, until a few nudged their companions and pointed. Plintze ignored them, but as they made their way toward the middle of the encampment, a low rumble of mutterings rose around them. By the time they reached the center near the largest tent, a crowd was following them to get a look at the dwarf.

  “I apologize, Plintze, but I don’t believe the men have seen a dwarf before.” Bremen lifted his chin and bellowed toward the back of the gathered crowds, “These are our guests! Go back to your fires!”

  The men dispersed while still trying to sneak wary peaks in Plintze’s direction and mumbling among themselves.

  “Humph.” Plintze kicked his toe in the dirt, looking uncomfortable with someone coming to his defense. But, he raised his head proudly and stared at Bremen, gave a slight nod, then asked where the roasted meat was.

  “Clear the area and guard your fingers,” Selby said in her robust voice, and Bremen let out a hearty laugh, surprising Jorg and Ingrid. They chuckled and looked between their friend and their new acquaintance with interest.

  I’ve never seen her act like this with anyone, and no one laughs at her jokes but me.

  Jorg stared and shook his head, seemingly confused at the turn of events.

  Bremen slipped the strap of his shield over his head and flipped one side of his cloak over a shoulder. A young boy hurried to help untie the two pieces of the heavy leather corslet covering his chest and back, then bent to do the same with his greaves.

  It was similar armor to what Ingrid had seen the men in her village wear for battle. When the boy ran off with the shield and all the leathers, Bremen returned the cloak to the front, and Ingrid spotted the sword still hanging from his belt.

  Then again, each of them still had their weapons strapped to their bodies as well. Ingrid noticed that Greer continued to stand and did not remove his battle gear. His dark eyes glinted as they darted around the group, a slight curl to his lip as if the air held a foul odor.

  “S
it. Let’s enjoy each other’s company,” Bremen said as he sat on one of the many cut logs arranged around the campfire.

  Still somewhat uneasy, the four sat as several young girls rushed forward with trenchers filled with roasted grouse, vegetables, and hearty slabs of bread. Though Ingrid’s stomach rumbled when she smelled the aroma of rich spices, it also reminded her of home, and she hesitated to eat as she thought of her family.

  As a distraction, she watched the serving girls who spoke quietly to the men and hurried away as soon as the meal was served. Their language was one that Ingrid had never heard before, even in the bustling capital.

  “Is that your native tongue the girls speak? I don’t recognize it,” Ingrid said.

  “The servants all speak Gaelic. Most of the men speak Saxon as well, but not all. None understand the Norse language.” Bremen paused and glanced at each of them, settling on Jorg. “I have met a few Norsemen, but those didn’t speak Saxon. It’s convenient that you do.” A question laced his words as he stared at Jorg.

  “Our village chieftain believes it is best to learn several languages It makes doing business easier,” Jorg said.

  Bremen paused but then gave a tense nod. “We’ve had many Norsemen land on our shores to do business.” The cool tone permeated the air, and everyone stopped eating, even Plintze.

  Jorg held Bremen’s stare over the rim of his cup. “There are many forms of business, but we are on a personal journey if that eases your mind.” After hesitating for a moment, Jorg continued. “You’ve traveled across the sea and south as far as Mercia. What did the king there offer that warranted such a display of strength?” Then added, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  The air grew thick around Ingrid’s shoulders as she mentally noted which direction held the best escape route.

  “Not at all.” Bremen bit off a large bite of bread and chewed slowly, speaking again only once he’d swallowed. “We negotiated a treaty with the king. We have similar interests in keeping our shores and lands protected.”

  Jorg bobbed his head and accepted the answer, letting any further comments go unspoken. It seemed to appease Bremen, and some of the tension faded into the air. Ingrid let her hand travel back to her bread from where it had rested on her thigh, above her dagger. After the meal, everyone relaxed as they became less concerned about each other. Much to Ingrid’s delight, stories began from Bremen’s travels. Even Greer seemed to loosen up as he joined in with the storytelling and laughter. Mugs of ale clinked together while the fire burned bright and the night wore on.

  11

  More than once, Ingrid found Bremen waiting for Selby’s reaction or gazing at her longer than necessary as she asked questions. He seemed enthralled by the entertainment. Selby, for her part, was equally coy with the engaging young man as he strutted around and gestured to make the stories come to life.

  Ingrid knew the pain Selby caused herself as she pined away for her brother through the years. It was good to see her affections turned in a new direction, yet she wondered if becoming smitten with a stranger from another land was any better.

  As the evening wore on, fewer and fewer men continued to sit by the fire, most finding their way to tents for the night. Several men, upon Bremen’s insistence, erected a small tent for Plintze when he grumbled about a place to sleep for the night, which he promptly crawled into and snored.

  “So, my new friends, we have captured the whole evening with story after story about our own adventures. I would love to hear some of yours,” Bremen said and lifted his mug toward Jorg.

  “It’s been a pleasure to listen to you since I’ve not met anyone from Ireland before. I’m sure our stories would pale in comparison,” Jorg answered.

  “Perhaps, if it is not too forward, you might share with us how two young women, a dwarf, and another male,” Bremen hesitated, “find themselves this far away from home?”

  Silence filled the air as the remaining men around the fire stared at the three and waited for an answer. Some even stopped their mugs midway to their mouth, apparently having lost interest in their drink.

  We shouldn’t tell them everything.

  “It’s a simple story, I’m afraid, but we are looking for a lost relative of Ingrid’s, and our search has brought us this way,” Jorg said.

  The tension in the air grew thicker as smoke from the burning logs trailed up and coiled around Ingrid’s throat. She didn’t drink ale much—she didn’t like it—but she still put the mug to her lips occasionally to appear indulgent. But at that moment, she swallowed a long draw of the bitter liquid.

  “Seems a long way to search for a relative. Must be someone important.”

  “She is dear to my mother and me, but our settlement is small, and we couldn’t spare more people.” Ingrid sat taller and smiled, the ale inspiring a bit more courage than she may have previously.

  Bremen quirked his lips and nodded, then rubbed at his jaw as if he were thinking about what Ingrid said. “And the other one, Plintze, he’s from your village as well?”

  “No, we met on a separate trip, and he became a friend,” she replied.

  Selby groaned and rolled her eyes. “He is a pain in the . . . backside, but I trust him to protect Ingrid—and all of us,” she added hastily.

  Ingrid rolled her lip between her teeth and looked into the fire. I knew she loved him, too.

  Jorg slipped his hand into Ingrid’s.

  “And how about you, Jorg? Did you join these two adventurous women, like Plintze did?”

  Jorg met Bremen’s gaze across the flames, neither backed down from another stare challenge. “I’m from the same settlement. Why do you ask?”

  Bremen gave a gentle point in Jorg’s direction. “Well, one can’t help but notice the ears, now can they? I’d love to hear the story about those.”

  “I was born with them. That is how you got yours, isn’t it? Or does it happen differently in Ireland?” Jorg grinned and raised his glass.

  Ingrid sucked in a deep breath through her nose and squeezed his hand while keeping a neutral expression on her face. The secret of Jorg’s elven heritage was still fresh and raw. He embraced it well, keeping his ears uncovered now instead of hiding them under the dark waves of his hair.

  I’m glad you let them show.

  Bremen’s expression cooled, and his smile slipped away. Jorg stiffened, and tension radiated off of him as he gripped Ingrid’s hand a little stronger.

  Finally, Bremen gave a loud laugh. “Well, enough then. It’s been a pleasant evening, and we wouldn’t want to ruin that, would we?”

  Jorg tipped his head in agreement. From the corner of her eye, Ingrid saw Selby’s shoulders lower as she sighed under her breath.

  “There was talk in Mercia of a druht, a private war band, hunting enchanted beings,” Bremen said. “I didn’t give it much thought at the time. But, now that we’ve met, I would hate for you to run into any of those misguided souls and put the lives of your lovely companions at risk.”

  “We’ve already met a few of that druht, as you call it. Not a friendly sort, it seems they are hired by someone, but we persuaded them to leave us be just fine,” Jorg said.

  “Oh? Please do tell how you convinced them to give up their wages. I’ve not met men willing to do that before.”

  “Elves can make people do things by speaking to them in their dreams or singing to them, like the faeries,” Greer blurted out.

  Bremen inhaled a deep breath and sliced a glare to his friend. “Our homeland has strong superstitions about the fae realm. I fear that may influence many opinions of you within the camp.”

  “Is it true? Can you make men do your bidding?” Greer asked.

  “Greer, that is enough,” Bremen snapped. Authority oozed from his voice as if he expected immediate obedience.

  “I have never tried to force anyone to do my bidding, nor would I, if that settles some of your fears. And, I don’t even know if I can sing—I’ve never tried.” Jorg let out a whiff of amusement. “T
he persuasion I spoke of was the kind that uses weapons. You’ve asked quite a few questions, Bremen, do you mind if I ask one for myself?”

  “Of course.”

  Ingrid’s pulse pounded against her skin, and a trickle of sweat rolled down the center of her back. The tar pressed hard as her heart raced faster. The uneasy truce between them balanced on a dagger’s edge as the conversation continued.

  Jorg glanced around beyond their fire to the many tents. “You’re obviously a leader among your men, Now we sit next to the largest tent within view, yet you look no older than me, younger perhaps. How does someone of your age end up in such a position over a group this large?”

  Greer fidgeted and looked agitated, but Bremen remained calm and composed. “That’s fair enough. I grew up among the king’s men and showed a special affinity for sword play at an early age, granting me the ability to begin my training younger than most.”

  There was a small silence while everyone stared into the flames, small pops from the wood released sparks into the dark night. The conversation had grown less jovial, and Ingrid tried to remove her hand from Jorg’s, but he squeezed lightly for her to stay. She picked at a non-existent loose thread on her trousers with her free hand. It was Selby who finally broke the silence.

  “Why would the druht hunt down those with magic? What could be their reason?”

  “From what I heard, their leader is a man from Wessex who has a deep hatred of all magic because of personal experiences. He believes someone with magical powers, will help those from the otherworld bring death and destruction to all humans. A reward is offered for any information about who it might be, so they can be stopped.”

  There are stories about me? Why didn’t anyone say so before we left?

  Never learning who she was had made her more vulnerable. Ingrid fidgeted and rubbed her hands together in her lap, wanting to pace or at least slip into the dark and hide. Her parents thought they were protecting her by hiding her connection to Freya’s spell as she grew. But now there were too many unknowns that left her exposed and defenseless.