Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  “I said sit down.”

  She flung herself into the chair.

  “I’m sure my sire would congratulate me, considering our family’s own history. There seems to be an undeniable attraction between Norse and English that spans generations.” He instantly regretted dredging up old memories. But his mother’s wicked tongue sent him into a rage.

  Her face burned.

  “Go ahead,” she said venomously. “Make this an occasion to shame me in front of our people.” She stood again, sliding her chair back. “I will not be the target of your spite, Randvior. Furthermore, my dearest flesh and blood, I won’t allow you to make the same mistake your father did. Your loins are not the center of the universe—think with your head, not your cock. The choices you make today may have serious consequences for all of us tomorrow.”

  He tried to wrap his head around the situation. She spoke some truth. The immeasurable damage inflicted upon his family after his father returned from a raid with a young English woman at his side nearly destroyed his family. His sire publicly declared the girl his mistress. A perfectly legal arrangement, but an immensely stupid risk for a man married to a woman of such renown. Within three weeks living under the same roof, Lauga had stabbed her to death.

  According to the opinion of the Thing, the legal assembly that reviewed such cases, her action was completely justifiable. A wife has the right to defend her honorable position in her husband’s household.

  “I have no wife,” he reminded her. “I am entitled to marry whomever I damn well please. I am lord over these lands, not some adolescent who needs his mother’s permission to go here or there.”

  Lauga nodded. “And I’m your mother, entitled to choose an appropriate bride for my only son. Is it not a tradition in these lands?”

  Yes, he thought, but merely a tradition. The gods have willed this girl on me . . . “Such traditions are broken all the time,” he said, lowering his head. “I’m of a mind to offer her a marriage contract.” For the first time in his life he cared deeply enough about a woman to worry about her future.

  Lauga’s face lighted. “You’ve claimed her virginity and feel responsible? Is that what this is about?”

  “Aye.”

  “You don’t have to marry her. Find another man for her. She’ll be welcomed by anyone you choose. Preserve our bloodline, Randvior. Don’t let it be polluted by Saxon blood. I will gladly help you. She’s a spirited young woman and will easily attract a bevy of eager warriors. Imagine how much gold—”

  His eyes opened at the suggestion of finding her a husband. He’d kill anyone who laid a bloody finger on her. She belonged to him. “Either respect my decision or leave my house until you’ve had sufficient time to change your mind.”

  He had enough to contend with at the moment—repairing ships, overseeing the winter slaughter and stocking of his storehouses, settling civil cases, and now Noelle. Had his mother lost control of her senses? No woman had any right to make unreasonable demands of any man. Even if it was tradition for a mother to help select her son’s bride, it wasn’t written in stone. Odin commanded his hands and the girl his body. Perhaps even his heart.

  He left Lauga standing alone and exited the hall. The majority of his men were still unloading merchandise from the ships. He had a list of tasks he intended to oversee before deep winter set in. He was already at a disadvantage because he arrived home so late in the season and needed to catch up.

  Repairs to the vessels were the most pressing issue. His ships were housed in four buildings near the river over winter. He needed to get them into dry storage as soon as possible. One vessel would stay anchored for defensive purposes. Although longships were designed to withstand cold, the wood could warp or the hull could crack if temperatures dropped too low for long periods of time. They needed to treat the wood.

  He followed the pathway to the riverfront. Only enough time left in the day to coordinate with his men, inspect the storage buildings, and return to the hall for the homecoming feast. Regardless of his state of mind, the feast must go on. Odin deserved his gratitude. The gods delivered him safely home again—wealthier, mightier, and perhaps much happier.

  Chapter 9

  Feasting

  The door opened without warning. Noelle twisted to her side and eyed Katherine standing at the doorway with a platter of food. How foolish to think Randvior would give her time to catch up on sleep.

  “I suppose you’ve been instructed to stay with me at all times,” she commented sarcastically as she gestured for the maid to enter.

  She climbed out of bed and inspected Katherine closely. “Turn around.”

  The maid rotated slowly while her mistress ran her fingers through her auburn hair, which was swept back off her face. Everything seemed right. Noelle breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I pray I never live to regret my decision to cooperate with these people.”

  Katherine nodded and served the food.

  “Your bedchamber is over there.” Noelle pointed at the door near the hearth.

  “Thank you.” Katherine curtsied. “I promise to serve you well.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. We shall act as each other’s eyes and ears. We are English above all things and will never accept being condemned to live anonymously in this strange country.”

  “Might we find a way home?” Katherine’s hands trembled as she poured a glass of wine.

  “Home . . .” Noelle repeated. Durham seemed as foreign a place as Norway. “Home is inconsequential at this point.”

  Katherine’s face grew barren.

  “I’d be a cold-hearted liar if I offered you false hopes. Believe me, if we had a choice, I’d choose England. The jarl holds legal documents that grant him custody of all of us. I reviewed the contract on the ship.”

  She knew Katherine was clever enough to understand. “Then we must make the best of our new arrangements.” The maid offered her the glass of wine.

  Noelle culled over the food—bread, cheese, and fruit. An hour ago, her stomach begged for sustenance and now she could barely handle looking at it. The only thing that appealed to her was blueberries, surprisingly plump and firm. She stuffed a handful ravenously into her mouth. Sweet juices seeped from the edges of her lips and ran down her chin. Katherine giggled and offered a napkin.

  “I’m so tired of tasteless bread, and now even cheese.” She wrinkled her nose in rejection and turned from the table.

  “I’ve been told to escort you to the bathhouse. The jarl promised he would leave soap and oil for us to bathe with.”

  Noelle didn’t care if he offered her a puddle of mud—she wanted to go, and now. “Well, why are we still standing here?”

  The maid tapped her fingers on the table as if she were mulling it over in her head. She smiled and followed her mistress out the door.

  Below, the hall bustled with life. Men came and went, disappeared below stairs carrying cargo into what Noelle guessed were storage cellars. She wondered how many of those chests came from her father’s home. She searched for Randvior amongst the crowd, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Katherine led her across the room, passing by groups of men and women who stared curiously. Two doors were opened in the back and Noelle stopped and stared outside. Dozens of buildings stood in the yard. She identified the stable, horses were lined up outside and grooms were brushing their fine coats.

  She spotted Randvior standing in a corner. His lingering gaze followed as she stepped closer to the kitchen. She stopped and fixed her eyes on his face. Could she possibly hide the feelings he stirred inside her whenever he stared at her? He lowered his head in greeting and turned before she could decide.

  Curiously, Katherine passed the doors that opened to the courtyard and brought her to the kitchen. Noelle considered the lively room, careful not to disturb any of the women who worked
so diligently at the counters and ovens. Racks of fresh bread were cooling near a back door and the familiar aroma of meat pie nearly made her salivate like a hungry dog.

  No one bothered to greet her. Not a bloody word from anyone. She might as well be a spirit. Try as she might to distract herself from giving it any more thought, it made her feelings simmer. Every woman laboring away in a kitchen across the civilized world gossiped while preparing the day’s meals. She expected a certain level of animosity from the servants, considering where she came from. But something bothered her even more. Why did Katherine bring her here when they could have avoided this room altogether and gone straight outside through the doors in the hall.

  “Who told you to bring me here?”

  “Lauga.”

  “Did she offer an explanation?”

  “Only that thralls are not permitted to use the main entrances for personal business.”

  Noelle wiped her hands on her dress and shook her head. The audacity . . . She lifted her chin and started for Lauga, who was managing the women baking pastries. Then stopped short, realizing it a bad time to confront her.

  From the moment she had arrived, she knew things would not go smoothly with the matriarch of Randvior’s family. Noelle’s feelings were important, though, and she deserved all the small courtesies extended to even the humblest of guests.

  I am not here of my own choosing! Blame your son, not me. Her eyes bored holes in Lauga’s back.

  Perhaps she was overanalyzing everything, but she didn’t like the way the woman made her feel. She headed in the opposite direction, toward a doorway where Katherine waited. They walked outside.

  Breathing in the fresh air, she enjoyed the warmth that streaked across her face. Sunlight was a valuable commodity in northern England in the wintertime. Noelle knew the farther north, the rarer it became. Randvior had warned it might take some time to acclimate.

  Two-dozen outbuildings were arranged in a semi-circle just outside the main house. Katherine identified them all. A barn, shearing sheds, smoke houses, storage rooms, armory, and other infrastructure necessary for every day survival. Beyond the service buildings were dozens of wooden cabins of all shapes and sizes, similar to an English village. This must be where his tenants lived.

  The bathhouse stood out amongst the other buildings, constructed of rough-cut logs and sealed with dark mud. Katherine opened the door and Noelle stepped inside first. She immediately noticed the dramatic change in humidity; a foggy heat swirled around them. No one was inside—an arrangement Randvior must have taken care of. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead and in the valley between her breasts. She gathered up the hem of her gown and tried to cool her legs by fanning them.

  She walked the perimeter of the narrow room. A natural hot spring bubbled invitingly near the center like a witch’s cauldron. Without a second thought, Noelle stripped, kicked off her boots, and peeled off her stockings. She allowed the healing warmth to overtake her.

  She continued to tour the room with her eyes. There were two tiled tubs on one side where she imagined families gathered for their weekly baths. The hot spring was banked by warm, flat rocks. She stepped up and the heat penetrated the soles of her feet. She tested the water with her toes. The effervescent heat reminded her of Randvior’s searing fingertips. Noelle stepped into the water and waded away from the edge until she was submerged to her shoulders. She had to stand on her toes to keep her head above water by the time she reached the middle of the pool.

  After a while, she swam back to the edge and stared toward the back of the room. Tables and chairs were neatly arranged alongside a large fire pit. Several smaller pits and wooden shelves stocked with linens were near the tables. She sat on the stones with her legs still soaking in the water. She watched amusedly as her maid removed her clothing and waded into the water. Her gratifying moans were rewarded with a hearty laugh.

  Submerged in the healing waters, Noelle felt as if the world were a perfect place. God’s hands alone formed this paradise and she pretended it was an enchanted spring and she a fairy changeling. She raised her arms above her head and breathed in and out, relaxing for the first time in days. Noelle closed her eyes and fantasized about exotic places—beautiful men and women in public bathhouses in Rome. So real were these images, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Katherine tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Tender skin—look how red you are.”

  Noelle inspected her own body. Bright pink splotches covered her arms and stomach like a fever rash. They were being boiled alive! She groaned with disappointment and grudgingly stood and walked away from the pool. Katherine scooted ahead and returned with a pile of linens.

  The soft material felt good against Noelle’s skin.

  Draped in towels, they walked to the tiled tubs. As promised, a basket of scented soaps and bottles of oil waited. Noelle smiled as she disrobed and stepped inside. She lowered herself into the cooler water. Katherine opened a bottle of oil and poured a generous amount onto her hands. She lathered and began massaging Noelle’s shoulders. The emotional storm raging inside her eased the deeper her maid’s hands penetrated her sore muscles. In time, she’d know what to do.

  Randvior slumped forward in his seat. His good fortune had paid off this year. His holdings in Scotland and the Orkney Islands were successfully fortified and manned with dozens of conscripts that would protect his interests in his absence. He considered his mother, seated on his left, and his captains, Harud and Aud, seated on his right. Several kinsmen from nearby steadings had traveled to welcome him home, including his distant cousins, Invar and Hagan, who were seated at opposite ends of the high table.

  He watched, rather humored by the spectacle of his cousins consuming as much ale and wine as they could. They always took advantage of his hospitality and depleted his stock of spirits instead of their own. The lower tables were overflowing with platters of roasted mutton and venison, meat pies, boiled cabbage, and vegetables thick with butter, spiced apples, sweet breads, flagons of ale and mead, and his best bottles of German wine. The homecoming feast was an important tradition. But Randvior’s thoughts were elsewhere—preoccupied by the empty seat at the nearest table, which was reserved for Lady Noelle Sinclair.

  He straightened his back, remembering the glint of rebellion in her eyes the moment he encountered her in Durham. He grinned, immensely pleased she possessed a strong spirit. His only mistake was thinking she’d bend to his will so easily. In bed though, praise Odin, she laid malleable underneath him—as soft as a piece of sculptor’s clay. He wanted to shape that tiny body after one of Odin’s Valkyries. But there was no time to give her his full attention yet. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of her willowy form and the scent of cinnamon oil on her skin.

  Damn it, where was she?

  An invitation to the jarl’s feast was not to be taken lightly. And for Noelle, not a simple request, but a direct command. His eyes roamed the lofty corners and lingered on the landing where he expected her to appear at any moment. All night he had anticipated nothing else and attempted to conceal his disappointment from his mother. Nothing escaped her notice, especially if it pertained to him.

  He sized up his mother. Lauga was the furthest thing from what he envisioned a woman should be. Handsome, none could deny it. Dozens of suitors competed for her hand before his father won her heart. Yet even now, as beautiful and respected as she was, scorn reflected in those stony eyes and her lips were always wet for the attack.

  He longed for peace, and one woman to warm his bed for the rest of his life. Noelle offered everything he desired.

  That’s exactly why he was suffering presently. He couldn’t get the wench out of his head. He’d slipped into the bathhouse, through a secret passageway, and had hidden behind a curtain. He shifted in his chair. He’d leered at her like a horny boy, watched as she emerged from the hot spring. He
r wet hair cascaded down her back, leaving her breasts fully exposed—shiny and beautiful, pale globes bouncing attractively as she climbed over the rocks. And right now, he paid full measure for his intrusion; his erection throbbed miserably. That memory sent sizzling heat pumping through his veins. He moaned, tempted to go upstairs and relieve himself.

  “And where is your fine Saxon woman this evening?” His mother’s voice shattered his dream.

  “Late.”

  Before Lauga replied, a flash of light green silk appeared on the landing. Noelle stood with Katherine—her gown clung attractively to the hollows and curves of her youthful figure, like a glove on a delicate hand. Her appearance disrupted his guests, too. Aud tactfully crossed the room to usher her to her seat. Dozens of eyes probed the most intimate parts of her body that Randvior had claimed for himself. He moved uncomfortably and watched possessively as she made her way to the table. Nothing had ever aroused him more than watching her glide across the room. Something darkly animalistic in him wanted to spread her across the table like a feast and take her in plain sight. He didn’t care if his men watched, or even his bloody mother—she belongs to me. He’d leave his mark on her—a more permanent mark than the tattoos his warriors received after battle.

  He had purposely seated her next to Sir Brandon McNally, a Scottish noble whose family had been intimately linked to his own since childhood. And across the table, he placed Starri and Unnr Raske, a married couple who had served him loyally for more than a dozen years. Recently deeded a small track of land as a reward for faithful service, they were of kind spirit and would treat her as one of their own. He expected the women would bond instantly, Unnr also being of English decent.

  He nodded approval as they welcomed her and served her wine and meat from their own plates. Noelle was an absolute pleasure to behold. Every movement she made perfectly exquisite. She possessed a smile as potent as absinthe. He adjusted himself underneath the table and determined Odin may have gifted him this tiny sprite as punishment instead of reward.