Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  “A little,” she admitted with cool courtesy, quite intimidated by his hulking physique.

  “Woman,” he said dispassionately. “You are in no immediate danger from me.”

  She looked at him in exasperated wonder. What was that supposed to mean, in no immediate danger? Dwarfed by his gargantuan body, she thought him daft to think she felt otherwise. Noelle tried to find the right words to express her feelings, but nothing appropriate came to mind.

  “Eat,” he said, shoving a piece of crusty bread into her hand.

  She glimpsed another smile playing around his attractive lips and wanted to rip them off his face. Being so close to him made her aware of just how dangerous he really was. She mashed the bread in her hand and bit a sizable piece off.

  He possessed no manners of any kind, and stared at her lips while she chewed and swallowed. He looked a bit tortured for it. Exhaustion and hunger had finally caught up with her and she reached for another piece.

  Rudely, he blocked her hand. “Why did your father leave his lands so vulnerable?”

  She could see his self-admiration coming through. God have mercy . . . Her stomach ached from the first sampling of food. The crumbs had only teased her insides. “Leave me to eat in peace, please.” She eyed him.

  “Only if I give consent.”

  Frustrated, Noelle slammed her hand on the table. Fools play. Would everything be a competition with him? From the moment she’d met him, an aggravating smile had spanned his face, similar to a court jester’s.

  “Go to hell,” she murmured indelicately, praying for patience and the good sense to keep still. She brooded over whether she should ask him what he found so damn entertaining. Women were often the subject of masculine amusements; but surely, a man of his worldly experience knew they didn’t like it!

  “Answer my question and I promise you shall eat without further interruption.”

  Her blood went hot. She didn’t like being toyed with. There must be limits to his patience, she had limits of her own and considered herself more than fortunate with how well he’d treated her thus far. His kindness must be closely linked to how well she performed—how well she amused him. If she cooperated, he’d continue to reward her with everyday necessities. Disappoint him, and she feared he would withhold often-underappreciated luxuries like food and water. Fortunately, Noelle had never truly felt hunger before. But after only a few hours of her home being under siege, the uncomfortable hunger pangs that were currently stabbing at her gut convinced her she never wanted to again.

  The hall suddenly hummed with life around them. She absolutely could not bring herself to answer his question and shook her head. His beautiful eyes held many secrets. And another grin creased his face as he clutched her hand, wrapping strong fingers around her fragile wrist.

  “I already know where your father went and what business took him to Ireland. I was just curious to see if you knew.”

  She snorted and leaned her elbow on the table.

  “My father never thought enemy ships would stray so far south this late in the season.”

  Hopefully this reply satisfied him.

  “Under normal circumstances your father would have been correct, but it’s still a costly oversight on his part.” He relaxed and released her hand, poured a glass of wine from a bottle on the table, and offered it to her.

  She refused.

  “Drink.” He pressed the glass into her hand, nearly spilling the dark liquid down the front of her dress.

  She sipped sparingly. His insufferable personality served no purpose. No need to force-feed her. Cretin. Men are the same everywhere—making meaningless demands simply because they enjoy watching inferiors squirm and jump at their commands. Someday I’ll find my voice of true resistance. For now, the Viking remained in complete control.

  After she finished, she scowled at him from behind the empty glass, turning it slowly around in her hand. “Now I have a question for you.”

  “I will permit it.”

  “What is your name?” She didn’t see any harm in asking. If she was destined to keep company with this stranger, shouldn’t she have the privilege of knowing his given name?

  “Randvior Sigurdsson.” It rolled off his tongue as prettily as a line from one of her favorite sonnets. The last syllable heavily emphasized.

  “Rand for short,” he offered with a brilliant smile.

  Thank God, a moment’s reprieve from his doltishness. She sighed as he moved the tray of food toward her and plopped down in a chair.

  “We sail this eventide.”

  Noelle found it impossible to look at him for longer than a few moments at a time. Something made her feel inconsequential in his presence, which forced her to navigate through a wide spectrum of emotions she’d sooner forget than face.

  Smirking at her apparent distress, he burst out laughing. Disgusted by his brutish manners, she looked away. She could easily call him dozens of filthy names . . . Having a brother as dastardly as Brian had served a purpose after all, it increased her vocabulary tenfold.

  “Am I that bloody entertaining?” Noelle simply couldn’t harness her emotions any longer and balled her hands into fists at her sides. She threw him a venomous look.

  “Yes.” His grin broadened.

  Noelle’s throat went dry with irritation and she blushed. He was purposely trying to aggravate her. A humongous hand brushed the side of her face and she jerked away.

  “Why do you assume you can touch me whenever you wish? You care nothing about how I feel or the lives of the people you interrupted here. But I congratulate you on a stunning victory, Jarl Randvior. You’ve conquered my father’s lands without a proper army to defend them. And we shall provide the necessary praise to keep you pacified to keep us from further harm. Must you persist in denigrating me, even after I submit to your every demand?”

  His loud chuckle vibrated off every stone in the hall and down her spine. How she desperately wished she possessed the strength to kill him. Instead, she retreated to the other side of the chamber. Immersed in thought, she didn’t hear him follow. And without warning, his hands rested on her shoulders as heavy as millstones.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at me, min lille dukke,” he whispered tantalizingly near her ear. His breath swept across her neck like a hot summer breeze.

  Rattled, she knew if her face revealed half the things she was thinking, it was no wonder why he made sport of her. Determined to keep her pride intact, she responded. “And I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

  “Assume nothing where I am concerned.”

  “My father says a man’s actions speak louder than his words.” She faced him, then stepped around him to take her leave.

  He caught her by the sleeve before she made it too far. Randvior Sigurdsson was undeniably surreal. God carved his physique with such precision he reminded her of a statue.

  “I’m sure your father is an educated and competent man. And I readily admit if my eyes reveal half the emotions yours do, consider it the reason why you’re going with me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. This unexpected confession pushed her closer to hysteria. She should hate everything about him—but he had played her protector and spared her family. He was taking her away from the only world she’d ever known. Godless heathen. And if she surrendered, everything she had hoped for in life and considered special, including honor, would surely be lost.

  “Your brother parted easily with you, if I swore to leave this castle standing and spare the lives of his men. It was an astute decision on his part, but a clear indication of where his loyalties lie—with himself. We greatly outnumber your men.”

  Why did he speak of this now? “But . . .” She struggled with her thoughts. “. . . I saw how many bodies littered this hall and the courtyard. Not all were my f
ather’s guards.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Many died, even some of my own soldiers.”

  “And my sister, Ophelia, was she part of your unconscionable bargain?” She shuddered.

  He stood in a warrior-like stance, with his barrel chest pushed out and his nostrils flared. His face darkened. “Her death changed everything.”

  Noelle found some consolation in the fact that she had ruffled his emotions so easily. Not made of stone. Maybe he wasn’t dumb as dirt after all.

  “I am not the type of man that condones the unnecessary killing of women and children. Despite what you assume, my men are held to higher standards than most. Above all things, I strive to be a fair man. There are limits to my violence, and my patience.”

  She hung on those last words and shut her eyes to avoid his penetrating stare. But his face was forever imprinted in her mind. She felt her most intimate feelings were on display for him alone to judge. “I don’t care if I’m a pawn in your twisted game. But my sister’s death is only further proof of why your kind should be wiped off the face of the earth—annihilated for the crimes you commit. Have you no shame?” Before she could even think, she reached up and slapped him so hard she left a perfect outline of her tiny hand on his cheek. “When did you find the time to barter for me as part of your plunder?”

  He looked at her with amazement.

  Randvior folded his hands over his stomach and sucked in a breath. She guessed his first reaction should be to beat her senseless for striking him.

  “I did not offer those terms late this morning.”

  “When then?” she demanded.

  “Minutes after I saw you in the hall . . .”

  Why didn’t she remember seeing him amongst the fighters? Surely a man of his impressive stature, whether helmeted or not, would have attracted her attention. Letting the sequence of events play out in her mind, she recalled the red-haired mongrel that had attacked her.

  Realization.

  Her jaw dropped.

  Someone had repelled him. A man she had assumed was one of her father’s conscripts.

  “You?” she asked severely. “You shielded me so I could escape?” She never meant to say it out loud. “You defended me?” It slipped out sounding more like an angry accusation than gratitude. Bewildered, she stepped back.

  “The day is fast approaching when you will see things with more clarity.”

  Something scarily infinite sounded in what he said. And he didn’t deny her assertion. Or confirm it. All sense abandoned her and she categorically denied the existence of any obligation to him. Sharp pain in her chest made her wince and she felt suddenly lightheaded. If only she had eaten more before drinking a full serving of wine.

  The look on his face changed to grave concern. Before Noelle could guess why, he swept her off her feet. She flailed weakly in protest as darkness closed in. Don’t take me aboard your ship, she wanted to say, but the words never came. The last thing she remembered seeing was his eyes.

  Chapter 5

  Mutual Respect

  Randvior firmly believed Noelle’s fainting spell to be a ruse to buy time for her father’s men to launch a rebellion. But after seeing the color drain from her vibrant cheeks, he moved decisively and commanded two of his men to escort them to his ship. He deposited her inside his cabin and waited for her to recover. Keeping her away from her kinsmen seemed his best defense in case his suspicions were justified. He eyed her appreciatively as she lay curled up like a kitten on his bed. There had been no hesitation on his part choosing her once he’d encountered her inside the hall. That head of honey-colored curls reminded him too much of the woman in his vision and he would not risk his future by ignoring it. He stared down at her, greatly tempted to kiss her again.

  She rolled onto her back and had hardly had a chance to breathe before his passion came gushing out. “Look at me.”

  Noelle combed her fingers through her hair and stared at the ceiling. “Where am I?”

  “On my ship,” he answered. “You seem determined to prolong our stay in England.”

  “Believe me,” she thrashed a hand. “I have no desire to prolong anything. Be gone from me, devil.”

  He snickered and considered the cool fury in her eyes. He already knew her incapable of concealing her emotions—her face was as revealing as a gypsy’s crystal. A hint of fascination gleamed in those eyes, too, especially when she looked at him. Willing or not, something unexplainable had already sparked between them. Randvior believed the attraction between a man and a woman was one of the unexplainable wonders of the universe. And he was unwilling to overlook the curious timing of her appearance, no matter how grim her circumstances. The gods dropped her in his lap for a reason. Mere coincidence? Not when he knew Odin’s hand had played a role. This involved fate. He curled a finger under her chin.

  Such a delectable morsel needed to be tasted. What pleasure she would receive while he worked those narrow hips. And that perfectly formed backside had already brushed against his manhood on more than one occasion. He closed his eyes, visualizing how perfect she must look naked. “Denne jenta har den strammeste rumpa jeg noensinne har følt!”

  “What perverted things are you saying now?”

  His lips curved into a roguish grin. “Not insults, min lille dukke, merely observations any hot-blooded man would make.”

  Lifting a slender hand, she deflected his answer. “Horse manure. And those other words I recognize well enough—min lille dukke—I hear you speak them often.”

  “A term of endearment. It’s irrelevant.”

  Might she offer a smile now? He hoped she would. Instead, her eyes narrowed, confirming her annoyance. “Remind me sometime in the future to tease you with words you cannot understand.”

  “Aye,” he said. “As long as it’s not spoken in French, Spanish, Greek, Latin, Gaelic, English, or Norse—all of which I am quite fluent.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Most men flex their muscles to attract the attention of the opposite sex, are you suggesting you showcase your linguistic skills to do so?”

  “My tongue is skilled at many things, if you care to find out.”

  “Vagrant—to think you would speak so shamelessly in front of me. I didn’t grow up in a convent. I know what men mean when they say such things.” She tossed her head, her words trailing off.

  “I shall say something more appropriate for your pretty ears. Ma petite poupee . . . meum pupa . . . or mi munequita, they all mean the same—what I see before me.”

  She crossed her arms and pursed her lips much too attractively for comfort. He admired her self-control; most women would have thrown something at him. Noelle simply shut her mouth whenever she was particularly irritated.

  “Damned to spend an eternity with a mindless churl.”

  “Careful,” he warned, grabbing at her. “Remember, there are consequences for everything you say.”

  “I meant no—”

  “I know what you intended.”

  Her fingers fumbled nervously with the long gold chain around her neck, twisting the cross pendant. “I’m your captive—this I must accept. Will you keep me from speaking freely as well?”

  He’d suspend all hostilities if she’d only offer him a blasted smile. Willful girl. “If you disrespect me or my captains, I will deal with you no differently than anyone else under my care. I cannot allow insults to be overheard by my men.”

  “Does it undermine your authority or force you to confront the malice so deeply rooted in your soul?” she asked poignantly.

  To hell with self-restraint! He wanted to tie her hands to the bedposts and fill that virginal hollow between her legs. I have plenty of authority, he thought. And he’d love to give her a firsthand demonstration.

  Chapter 6

  Sea of Reckonings

  A s
teady wind filled the sail of Randvior’s flag ship, Odin’s Eye, as the last ribbons of sunshine colored the eventide sky. Noelle wrapped her arms around the polished mast as she stared forlornly at her homeland fading away, swallowed by clouds and waves. Her heart was broken. Randvior seemed conveniently occupied at the moment, so she focused her attention on his other two ships following behind. Any distraction would serve her purpose right now—keeping her mind off the people left behind. Especially Margaret.

  A strong northerly cut across the deck and quickly reminded her of the season. Shivering, she knew it would only get colder where they were headed. To the wretched northlands, a place where men worshipped carved stones and sacrificed innocents to their gods.

  After she’d woken up in Randvior’s cabin, he’d given her an opportunity to witness such an act before their departure. She’d accompanied him to shore and watched breathlessly as his men constructed an altar from flat stones on the beach. They’d sacrificed a suckling pig from her father’s barn as recompense for Odin’s favor. Randvior’s personal entreaties were sacrilegious, and she should have turned away. Even though he spoke in a foreign tongue, the power behind his words had captivated her.

  She couldn’t keep her eyes off the soldier who slit the animal’s throat. A second man laid its bloody carcass across the altar. Meanwhile a light rain had started to fall. But it made no difference to her; she had never seen a pagan ritual before, only heard stories told amongst the men in the hall when they were drunk. Deciphering between truth and exaggeration was impossible until she had witnessed it herself.

  The sacraments Noelle observed were paramount to her salvation. But she never dismissed the faiths of others. Better to remain silent than risk God’s wrath. Besides, these men voiced no concerns over her faith. And their commander hadn’t exercised intolerance. After all, it wasn’t her soul he craved.