Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  He didn’t want Noelle to miss seeing the holy place and called to her. People from all over Norway visited this site on pilgrimages during the summer months. She moved, popped open an eye, and quickly closed it again. He laughed delightedly. Anything she did right now would make him happy.

  “Wake up, min lille dukke.”

  She grumbled something unintelligible and peeked up at him. “Do I have a choice?”

  Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, but she remained as adorable and pretty as ever. He pulled her hood back.

  “I want you to see where we’re going.” He pointed across the lake. “This is an enchanted place, where Odin first made his treaty with us. If you look beyond the shoreline and keep your eyes sharply focused northward, where the trees begin to thin out, you can see a group of standing stones. Nine perfectly matched stones.”

  He knew she adored history.

  “And why is this place so important at this ungodly hour?” She yawned and tried to lie back down.

  “We believe this is one of the places where heaven meets the earth. The gateway into Midgard, the lands Odin gifted the first man and woman, Ask and Embla, to live in.”

  “Surely you know that’s a myth.” She was awake now.

  “Is it less believable than a garden paradise?”

  She considered it. “No,” Noelle sighed. “What do the stones represent? Is nine an important number in your world?”

  He pinched her hand appreciatively. Her inquisitive mind wouldn’t allow her to fall asleep again. “Aye,” he said excitedly. “The universe is divided into three levels and nine worlds. Those worlds are Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Midgard, Jotunheim, Nidavellir, Svartalfheim, Hel, and Niflheim. Each stone represents one of those worlds. And the first Norse king, Harald Fairhair, swore the gods erected these stones as demarcations to show where we should live. They symbolize our sovereignty over the nations of the earth. And each one reminds us of the nine immortal virtues that Northmen strive to live by. If a man abandons them, his soul is doomed—his name forever stricken from the annals of Valhalla. Other legends claim maidens inhabit them, Odin’s own daughters as guardians of the realm.”

  “Name these virtues.”

  “I cannot, they are forbidden to foreigners. But I shall reveal one, love.”

  As long as she distinguished between Odin and her god, respected the significance of Allfather’s gifts, she would be welcome here. As they neared the clearing, she pointed at a cottage between the sixth and seventh stones.

  “A caretaker lives here, a most beloved priest and friend.”

  Randvior dismounted and she followed. He hobbled his stallion and they walked to the cabin. Before he could knock, the small door opened. A hoary-colored beard covered the stranger’s face; he wore a plain wool tunic. Randvior bowed and they exchanged pleasantries before they embraced.

  The priest turned to Noelle. “Is this the woman I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Aye.”

  “Odin has an eye for beauty. Come and warm yourselves by the fire.”

  The one-room cabin was sparsely decorated, with a crudely made bed, a table, four chairs, and bookcases brimming with ancient scrolls and manuscripts. The priest poured three glasses of wine from an open bottle and served them.

  “Does your lady know the purpose of your visit?”

  “No.” Bloodlust still thundered in Randvior’s heart. No, it was time to speak of love now, not hate.

  Growing thoughtful, Randvior set his drink aside and approached Noelle, who was standing in front of the hearth. For only the second time in his life, he knelt at the feet of a woman.

  “As the priest has suggested, I brought you here for purely selfish reasons.”

  She touched his face.

  Unwilling to postpone their wedding any longer he said, “It is customary to spend weeks planning a wedding—inviting kinsmen and friends and holding elaborate celebrations. We can no longer delay the inevitable. We are still in danger, although I cannot say who wishes to see us both destroyed. I still feel it in my bones. I want to marry you here, on cherished ground. Pledge our hearts to the gods as we did at Odin’s altar. To Hel with the rest of the world . . . Noelle Sinclair, say once more you’ll become my wife.”

  She swallowed and took Randvior’s hands in hers. Rewarded him with an intense smile. He nuzzled his head between her thighs.

  “You didn’t need to ask me again.”

  A few minutes later, satisfied she had agreed, he let go and stood. “There are a few preparations before the priest can offer the vows.”

  In the farthest corner of the room, he unveiled a large chest. After he opened it, he showed her two swords. The first was the one he had laid across his knees during the oath taking ceremony. Randvior lifted the heirloom above his head.

  “My sword was forged in the fires of my forefathers and I am meant to guard its tradition. Our eldest son will hold this weapon one day, and it will continue to symbolize everything we hold sacred—our freedom. Odin blessed this blade and our wedding vows will be spoken over it.”

  He lowered it and lifted the second so she could see it clearly. The thin delicate blade gleamed coppery-silver in the soft light. “This one,” he wanted her to join him, “was produced in my armory for you. It’s meant to represent your ancestors.”

  Noelle traced the metal with her fingertips. Her name was etched along the unblemished edge.

  “Why should you honor my family?”

  “Min lille dukke,” he said. “By custom we equally honor both families during a wedding. Our children will share the bloodlines of both our houses. The name Sinclair is honorable. It is only your brother I despise.”

  “And these rings . . .” Noelle inspected the silver and gold rings set in the delicate pommel.

  “The first of many oath rings for your blade. These,” he fingered two, “symbolize the beginning of our lives together.”

  He tapped the handle. “Hereafter, every critical moment of our lives—births, weddings, and deaths—will be remembered by additional rings. For a people defined by oral tradition, they will act as a historical record. And long after we’ve departed this earth, they will serve as a legacy for future generations who will swear allegiances over them, too.”

  Noelle handled the sword cautiously. It fit her hand so precisely, so perfectly balanced, and she swept it overhead with ease. Her mood improved the longer she admired the weapon. “Thank you.”

  “Aye,” he said, “it embodies the beauty I see in my queen.” He took the blade and propped it against the wall.

  “Are you ready to face the world as my wife, min lille dukke?”

  “Only if you promise to quit teasing me so much and if you finally tell me what that bloody term of endearment you’ve called me since the first day I met you means.”

  You need only ask . . . “My little doll.”

  Noelle raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  He devoured her with his eyes. “I’ve considered you that and so much more since that first day.”

  She giggled sweetly. “Your honeyed tongue could talk any virgin out of her clothes.”

  “Aye,” he said. “It already did.” He hugged her close. “Please believe my words are not practiced. You alone inspire me.” He could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

  He swung her around like a child.

  “Now,” he set her down. “More gifts await you.”

  She clapped her hands as he pulled a powder blue gown and a tawny colored headdress, adorned with sprigs of heather and dried wildflowers, out of the trunk. “My mother wore this bridal crown and her mother before her. Now I wish you to wear it.”

  “How is it you knew to bring these things here?”

  “After Sveinn kidnapped you, I sent Brandon ahea
d, as my proxy, to receive my father’s blessing for this union. He brought the trunk, too. The priest has been waiting for days. I knew in my heart if we were reunited that not another day should go by without us being husband and wife.”

  “You amaze me.”

  “No,” He cupped her face. “You amaze me.”

  An exaggerated cough disrupted their conversation.

  “My Lord Sigurdsson, if you will follow me outside. Please help me set the hay bales, the lady will need time to prepare.”

  Not wanting to leave her side, Randvior agreed to go, reluctantly. He planted a firm kiss on her forehead before he left.

  The priest bowed reverently to Noelle from the doorway. “There is a looking glass inside the cabinet by the hearth if you need it to aid in your preparations.”

  Noelle’s love for her groom increased tenfold once he showed her the gown and headpiece. How many men paid attention to such things? Love had blossomed between them so quickly. Weeks ago, she searched tirelessly for an escape. Now all she wanted waited outside. She touched the headdress and realized its importance. The Norse believed it honored the goddess Freya and brought luck to the bridal bed. The heather and flowers symbolized the harvest and fertility. She pinned it in place.

  Dressed, she cracked the door and looked outside. Dozens of celebratory pyres were lit. A ring of fire surrounded her groom and the priest. Most of the snow inside the circle had melted and she could see withered vegetation underfoot as she stepped within the fiery sphere.

  As usual, Randvior appeared unearthly, too handsome in his black tunic. The gold sword was sheathed at his hip. His flaxen hair hung loose at his shoulders and his beard had been neatly trimmed for the special occasion. Thank God, she wasn’t marrying an Irish lord today!

  She had prayed for this moment from childhood. The loss of her mother and the corrupt nature of her brother had affected her life so harshly. After years of strife, she wanted to scream to the world how happy she felt in this perfect moment. How she knew in her heart this was the man God intended her to marry. The snow in the trees surrounding the clearing glistened as brightly as stars, a beautiful backdrop for her wedding. She lifted her skirts and eyed the dainty slippers on her feet—decorated with tiny bell-shaped beads and embroidered with gold thread. Her dress was ornamented in the same fashion.

  Clasping a hand over his heart, Randvior greeted her, a slight tremor in the hand he offered. Joyful tears threatened to spill again, but she didn’t want Randvior to remember her that way on their wedding day. She must be brave.

  The holy man begged their undivided attention, which meant they could no longer stare at each other. But Noelle could barely pry her eyes off her lover. She faced the priest and opened her heart to anything he might say. A pagan wedding vow is better than none at all. The liturgy opened with a prayer spoken in Norse. Noelle cared little if he prayed to the devil himself. She stood at the altar with the man she loved!

  Apparently, Randvior arranged for the wedding to be conducted in her language, because the priest started speaking English after the prayer ended. Subtle differences existed in the vows. She stood devotedly and placed her right hand in Randvior’s left so he could slip a thin gold wedding band onto her ring finger. Randvior had taken the elegant circlet from amongst the oath rings on his sword. In turn, she presented a ring to Randvior, after the priest blessed and handed it to her.

  Once the rings were sanctified, the priest presented swords. They knelt on tiny silk pillows and bowed their heads as he reenacted the moment Odin breathed life into humankind. Noelle’s gaze strayed often to Randvior’s face, much to the priest’s chagrin.

  Randvior squeezed her hand. “Behave little one,” he whispered, eyes dancing.

  They exchanged swords and spoke the vows next.

  “The gods have commanded men and women to marry and conceive sons and daughters and to raise them to honor the Old Ways. Noelle Marie Sinclair—do you swear before Odin and his sons and daughters to cleave unto this man, to honor and keep yourself unto him all the days of your life and into the hereafter?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you renounce your fealty to your English sovereign and pledge allegiance to Jarl Randvior Sigurdsson as your lord and master, husband and protector, spiritual head, and judge?”

  “Aye.”

  “Randvior Sigurdsson—do you swear before Odin and his sons and daughters to cleave unto this woman, to honor and protect and keep yourself unto her all the days of your life and into the hereafter?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you pledge to guide her correctly and gently through this lifetime and nurture her spirit for Odin’s own pleasure?”

  “Aye.”

  “I Odins navn erklærer jeg dere mann og kone. La ingen utfordring gudene mindre død de søker.” The priest blessed them and made several revolutions over their heads to ward off evil spirits. “You are bound.”

  Randvior embraced and kissed her before he turned to the cabin where a black ram was tethered to a post. He carried the beast to the altar. The priest opened a silver horn he’d removed from his belt and prayed. He anointed the animal with fragrant oil from the horn. Noelle’s attention turned from the priest to her husband. Another blood sacrifice?

  “This will assure our marriage is established on a strong foundation.” Randvior raised a dagger overhead and neatly slit the animal’s throat.

  No words needed—Odin surely accepted this blood gift.

  Chapter 18

  Test of Dedication

  Dreams did come true after all. The priest served a modest meal; smoked venison, pickled herring, cabbage, bread, and day-old honey cakes. Ambrosial in Noelle’s humble opinion.

  Randvior satisfied the priest’s demand for a traditional bridal toast. “To Noelle—you have increased my joy and banished sorrow from my soul. I beseech Frigga to bless and give us many sons and daughters who will serve the gods.”

  “Aye!” The holy man gulped down his portion of wine.

  After an hour, Randvior announced their quick departure.

  “Folkvar, we humbly thank you for your generosity. Odin’s blessings on you, old friend—remember, my door is always open to you and your kinsmen.”

  “And many blessings on your house,” he returned. “But somehow, I think those blessings have already begun.” He winked at Noelle.

  Once outside, Noelle’s body constricted with anticipation, a premonition of feelings of the night to come. Wound as tightly as a chord, if Randvior so much as blew on the nape of her neck, she’d collapse in a chain of orgasms.

  After riding east for what seemed a lifetime, they arrived at a lovely cabin nestled between a stream and cluster of trees. Light flooded outside from the only visible window. Randvior dismounted, left her astride, and walked to the door. Aud and Katherine popped out and hugged him, then smiled in her direction. Noelle stared, shocked and amazed by yet another unexpected surprise. And her husband appeared completely amused. He whispered to Katherine and the maid disappeared inside.

  Randvior collected Noelle and they stood by the cabin together. Katherine reappeared with a bowl of breadcrumbs she spread along the front of the cabin.

  “Is she feeding the birds?” Noelle thought it a queer thing to do right now.

  Randvior’s tittering left her feeling a bit dumb. “She’s leaving food for the fairies, so they won’t curse our bridal bed.”

  She laughed at his boyish beliefs, never realizing how seriously he took it. “You actually believe in the wee folk?”

  “I’ll not deny their existence after the unexplainable things I’ve seen over the years. Let’s just say I prefer not to tempt anything lurking in the shadows. Ask Brandon, he’ll swear on the Blessed Virgin sprites that inhabit these hills and forests.”

  Before she could entirely digest the notion of h
er warrior husband believing in such outlandish things, he scooped her off her feet. Aud cheered him on as Randvior carried her over the threshold. A fire roared in the stone hearth near the doorway and the rest of the room was glowing with the soft light from candles and a metal brazier. The dominate feature in the room was a large bed with lush, velvety coverlets.

  She blushed at the oversized bed. Only Randvior would demand such a grand mattress to accommodate his athletics between the sheets.

  But other things about the room delighted her, too. An ornamented table with two equally impressive chairs, complete with fine linens and platters of food, was placed near the fireplace. The roasted mutton and boiled cabbage made her mouth water. Her eyes feasted on an assortment of delectable pastries and dried fruits.

  “How did they know?” she asked, baffled by her husband’s elaborate preparations.

  “I stationed scouts along the roadway days before I found you. I planned our wedding very carefully, was not willing to take any more chances. I told you this already, my love.”

  Regardless, she marveled at his attention for detail. She further explored the room; furs covered the earthen floor and feather pillows were neatly arranged near the hearth. Thick blankets overlaid a bearskin. Did he expect her to make love on the floor? A bouquet of fresh roses and violets were arranged in a crystal vase on a bed stand. Blooms this late in the season—where did they come from? Noelle eyed Aud curiously.

  He shrugged. “It’s a secret.” He put his finger to his lips.

  Why not? Katherine fed the faeries and now Aud managed to produce roses in the middle of winter. Perhaps magic did exist in Norway.

  She wagged a finger at Aud. “If I cannot be privy to the secret, I will at least enjoy their beauty.” She walked to the table and picked up the bouquet. The soft aroma pleased her.

  She turned and watched as Randvior spoke quietly with his servants, clasping his captain’s arm with gratitude. “Goodbye,” he said.