Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  Her face flushed, and she spun slowly around as if memorizing the dimensions of her prison, or looking for an escape route.

  Noelle did not like tight spaces or the idea of being locked underground. “There is a secret passageway meant for the women and children if an emergency arises. I know of no grown man who can fit through the door to get inside the tunnel. It stretches for over a mile westward—only to be used as a last resort. The older women know the signal to listen for to use it. These guards . . .” He pointed at his men. “. . . will stay with you.”

  Her color improved.

  “But this . . .” He placed the bottle in her left hand and forced her fingers closed around it. “. . . is a means to a painless death if our enemies prevail. Don’t be afraid, my love. I’m sure even your White Christ would forgive a woman for protecting her virtue.” He felt a slight tremor in her hand as he let go.

  “It’s common practice—all the women own one.” He attempted to convince her of its usefulness. “The threat of slavery or rape is beyond the comprehension of free Norse. Thralls face no such threats, would only be used in the same manner they are accustomed to in another man’s household. Promise me,” he said with gruesome finality, “that if the situation arises, you won’t hesitate to use it.”

  She stared past him, unblinking, searching the faces of the women and children, then looked back at him. “Only once I have seen to the needs of the others—I am their mistress now.”

  His mouth twitched. Brave to a fault. Randvior walked away, appreciating his bride even more than before.

  Chapter 20

  Remember

  Blood lust gripped Randvior’s soul. Families were slaughtered for nothing more than a personal vendetta his mother held against his choice for a wife. Six children and four women, their homes burned to the ground. Even during his darkest days, pillaging in Western Europe, he’d never forgotten his morals or approved of unnecessary slaughter. Women and children were forbidden targets and if his men disobeyed, they’d suffer his wrath. Yet today he had failed to protect them.

  The victims’ bodies were relocated to Odin’s altar. Funeral pyres were constructed in the clearing, one for each family, to be kept burning in memoriam. He didn’t allow the bodies to be cremated yet. Not until the guilty were apprehended and forced to kneel before the pyres. Forestalling funeral rites was considered dangerous. It might delay the crossing-over of their souls, possibly imprisoning their spirits on earth forever. A chance he’d take for now.

  In order to appease Odin, he brought a pregnant mare to the altar. His guards and slaves gathered around as he tethered the animal to a stake.

  “Hear me great Odin. Grant me one gift—to see my enemies for what they truly are. Give me wisdom to judge fairly the men and women who seek to destroy these lands. Gift me the fortitude to see this through, even if I must sit in judgment of my own flesh and blood.”

  The horse reared and whinnied frantically as Randvior came near. Dark eyes grew wide in fear. He comforted her by running his hand over her broad chest, moved slowly downward until his fingers traced the outline of her belly, praising her spirit for being chosen for sacrifice.

  “Run free in Asgard forever,” he spoke quietly. “You are valiant, honored as any brave warrior in battle. An ordinary death is no end for a creature as beautiful as you.”

  Only a few of his men overheard these words as he unsheathed his sword. Slitting the throat of a pig or ram to entertain his patron was one thing; driving a broadsword to the hilt, through the muscled chest of a beast larger than a man to appease his god’s wrath, was a rare demonstration of strength. Odin’s stamina overtook his body and his blade cut through thick flesh and bone. The mare swayed and snorted. Randvior stood strong, looking her straight in the eyes.

  Her sides heaved for air as she scraped the frozen earth with her front hooves.

  “La dette blodet gaven vise vårt engasjement og påskynde Odins hevn,” Randvior said, and knelt before the beast. He reached blindly, grasped the handle of his weapon, and with all his might ripped the blade free. The mare teetered, then crashed to the ground.

  He addressed his slaves first. “Guard these fires and the bodies of my kinsmen with your lives. There is no rest for their souls until we’ve destroyed our enemies.”

  He looked to his guards next. “If one of these bodies is moved, you will all be held responsible.”

  When Randvior returned to the great hall, his captains and men were waiting. He considered their grievances, mostly complaints about his delayed response to the attack. With his face and armor streaked with wet blood, he knew he resembled one of Odin’s sons. A thrall brought a basin of water and towels to clean Randvior’s face and hands as he counted his remaining fighters—fifty. He assigned them positions.

  “I believe this night will pass uneventful—our enemies are cowards and know I have returned.” Randvior sat down on his throne and wiped his blade clean.

  After guzzling his wine, he headed for the stables. His team followed. His first destination was the cabin where he honeymooned with his wife. They had left their belongings behind and he wanted to retrieve her gifts and his weapons. It would also give him an opportunity to inspect the bodies of the men who tried to kill him. He believed his mother’s petty jealousies had finally caught up with her. Soon, Lauga will stand before me and I will personally condemn her so all the Trondelag knows who she really is.

  Noelle paced the earthen floor. Even under Unnr’s unwavering care, she still couldn’t accept being sequestered underground while the men defended her home. Most of the women sat in groups. The younger girls knitted together in a corner, and the elders chattered amongst themselves, throwing looks her way occasionally. It made her uncomfortable.

  Lauga’s doing . . . Even out of sight, the woman might as well have her hands wrapped tightly around her throat—slowly choking the life out of her. Noelle folded her hands. A pretty girl she’d never seen before was seated by the guards near the stairs, staring at her. The type of girl she feared her husband admired. But she couldn’t be more than fifteen.

  “Who is she?” she finally asked.

  “Lauga’s protégé. The girl she wanted her son to marry.”

  Some men preferred their girls young and compliant. Thank God, her father had never forced his daughters to marry at such a young age. She frowned at the thought, then she vomited on the floor at Unnr’s feet. Noelle cradled her sour stomach with both hands.

  Her friend ordered two thralls to clean up and draped an arm about her shoulders. “How long since you’ve bled?”

  Her stomach groaned. “Over a month.”

  “Is the jarl aware of your condition?”

  “Maybe.” Noelle shrugged. “He thinks I’m sick.”

  “Aye, men overlook everything important unless it smacks them between the eyes.” Unnr nodded sympathetically. “The dizziness comes and goes, eases with time.”

  Noelle gawked stupidly at her. “But you have no children.”

  “No living children,” Unnr corrected. “I gave birth to five sons, but none lived beyond infancy.”

  Noelle wanted to slap herself in the face and deeply regretted saying a word. The strain in her friend’s voice broke her heart. She grabbed Unnr’s hand and squeezed. “Please forgive my insensitivity. I am terribly preoccupied with concerns about my husband’s safety—and this.” She hugged her stomach. “And now the discovery of my rival . . .”

  “Forget the girl,” Unnr waved a hand dismissively. “She’s bedded more men than I have in thirty-four years. I am sure you came to the jarl’s bed unsullied.”

  Heat rose in Noelle’s cheeks and she lowered her eyes. Unnr smiled and tugged Noelle’s chin upward.

  “You are a rare flower growing amongst the weeds and brambles. Never mind what these women think or say. The jarl chose well. F
ather Odin saw to that. And now, his heir grows inside you.” She touched her stomach affectionately.

  “You need sleep.” Unnr took her to a small subchamber off the back of the main room. Clean hay covered the floor. “Time is of little concern underground. Rest and I’ll go get blankets.”

  The night passed uneventfully, just as Randvior had predicted. Daylight was always a refuge. He dismounted and stomped into the hall. Thralls were setting out kettles of hot pork stew and bread. Randvior sat down at one of the lower tables and poured himself a glass of wine. He devoured a bowl of stew and signaled for a second serving.

  He had reached the cabin quickly last night, and his men buried the bodies of his assailants. No prayers were offered over the unmarked graves. Let them burn.

  Noelle’s gifts were safely recovered. He rubbed his chin as pleasant memories of his short-lived honeymoon filled his mind. That tiny cabin had a long history. The former owner’s family settled those lands centuries ago. Unfortunately, the last male heir died recently, and his childless widow sold Randvior the property on his promise that he would let the cabin remain.

  He gulped down the last of his wine and stood. He stretched, twisting and groaning, and then eyed the cellar door.

  Aud strutted through the back entrance of the hall like a rooster. “Come with me.”

  Randvior and a dozen soldiers followed him outside. A group of saddled horses waited near the stable. His mother sat rigidly atop one harnessed to a long sled.

  He studied her face, hoping to see an ounce of compassion. But she returned his stare with icy-cold eyes. He turned away as his gut tightened. Randvior noticed a figure wrapped in layers of thick furs and blankets inside the sled. His face brightened when he realized it was his sire. Anundr Sirgurdson grinned ear to ear. By the gods, he hadn’t seen his father in over a year. How he respected and idolized this man.

  He walked to the side of the sled, fell to his knees, and bowed his head. No shame in demonstrating his obedience to the man he loved more than any other. Anundr was a living legend in these lands, a famous warrior who single-handedly slayed dozens of Varangians. Injuries left him crippled, but the man lived to tell his own story.

  Strong hands rested on his head. Randvior looked up to see the rare glimmer of paternal pride in his father’s stark blue eyes. He imagined there was a pair of lips buried somewhere underneath the thick curls of his beard. Randvior laughed at the golden beads decorating the braids on his face. After all this time, his father still chose to adorn himself like their ancient forefathers.

  “You have prospered, my son,” his father said, appraising the outbuildings. “While I squandered my wealth, you practiced frugality. If not for your mother’s skills as a spaewife, we might have been begging at your door.”

  “What is mine is always yours.” Randvior leaned over the sled and embraced his father in a bear hug. “Are you aware of why I summoned my mother?” He let go and sat back on his haunches.

  “Aye,” Anundr nodded. “Your ever-faithful captain explained everything to me. I demanded to come along as the legal representative of my household. Regardless of her deeds, Lauga is still my wife. If these charges are true, your mother has shamed me.”

  Randvior stood. With a stiff nod, he turned and unhitched the sled from the horse. Aud picked up one end and Randvior the other. They carried it inside to a thickly padded chaise lounge that one of the slaves placed on the dais. He lovingly lifted his father and settled him in the chair. Anundr arranged himself and sat back with a deep sigh. Furs from the sled were brought for him and spread over his legs. Randvior pushed an ale horn into his father’s hands and excused himself.

  Formal preparations must be made immediately. Although his father’s visit was unexpected, he deserved every special consideration. “Announce my father’s arrival, welcome all who wish to enter this hall and feast with him,” he instructed his men.

  When he unlocked the cellar door and started down the steep stairs, Randvior nearly fell, he was so distracted by the joyous occasion. He desperately wanted to share this moment with his wife. Women and children flocked around him when he appeared. He wheedled his way past them and searched for Noelle amongst the sleeping bodies that littered the floor. He finally found her curled up with Unnr.

  He paused over her. Odin, have mercy. He knelt and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Time to wake up.”

  Thick lashes fluttered open as delicately as butterfly wings. Once she realized who it was, Noelle shot up and flung her arms around his neck.

  He smiled. “Important guests await your company upstairs,” he informed cryptically. Anundr’s presence made him feel like an awkward boy again. How he wanted his sire to fall in love with his wife.

  Noelle and Unnr scrambled to their feet and smoothed their skirts.

  “Who has come for a visit?” Noelle asked.

  “My father.”

  “Your father?” she repeated.

  “Aye,” he confirmed. “I am freeing all the women and children. We are safe for now. Few people have had the opportunity to meet my father and will want time to prepare. Never fear, my love,” he pinched her cheek. “My sire is composed of the same flesh and bone as me. His presence in my home is an honor we must celebrate. He is worthy of the highest esteem. I want him to meet you.” He picked sprigs of hay from her hair and chuckled at her general state of disarray.

  Noelle disappeared behind a far wall and changed into the clean dress she had packed. He nodded approval and reached inside his pocket when she emerged. Much to her delight, he had her morning gift. The stones reflected beautifully in the torchlight. He hooked the necklace around her neck.

  “I feared it was lost forever.” She fingered the stones lovingly.

  He smiled. “Not a chance.”

  Both his wife and the necklace had cost him a small fortune and he’d be damned if he’d lose track of them again. His heart pounded furiously as he stepped back and admired her.

  After a long moment, his smile faded. Unfortunately, there were more pressing things to discuss.

  “After I left, I decided it was time for my mother to answer for her crimes. Many have gathered to hear her testimony. My father, who hasn’t left the privacy of his home in many years, found it important enough to travel with her. Few nobles face a judge—especially in a kinsman’s court.”

  This news should make her feel better. Instead, her eyes darkened and Noelle looked away.

  Randvior took her hand. “I may ask you to testify.”

  She faced him again and visibly stiffened.

  “No one will ever harm you again, I swear it.”

  His tiny Valkyrie had killed a man with no fear and stitched up his body without batting an eyelash. But she hated being the center of attention, especially in a public setting. Randvior moaned and pictured her tiny hand plunging that knife into the man’s back. It sent shivers up his spine. He had no right to make more demands, especially where his mother was concerned. Noelle had been a victim of her viciousness for weeks. Yet, he believed his people would respect her more if she had the courage to speak up.

  He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “I will be your strength.”

  Chapter 21

  The Reaping

  This was the moment Noelle had waited for—assuming the role as mistress over her husband’s household. It was an immense responsibility she had only considered in theory—until now. Familiar faces and strangers alike were gathered to witness this spectacle of a trial and to greet Randvior’s father.

  She cast a worried glance at her husband, who kept a firm grip around her waist as they walked. Women and children congregated along the back wall and slaves stood wherever they could find space. That diminutive chair next to Randvior’s throne was adorned with flower wreaths and pine boughs. Decorated for her? A single strand o
f silver medallions, similar to the ones that adorned his chair, was draped across the back.

  “Your seat is ready, my lady.” Her husband made a sweeping bow.

  She could scarcely take her eyes off him. After weeks of feeling the outcast, she was no longer considered the vile English harridan. Everything she wanted was looking her directly in the eyes. His love surpassed anything she’d ever known. And this house . . . She adored it, feeling a connection stronger than that of her birth home.

  As often practiced in her homeland, her new steading deserved a name. “Steingard. The Stone Farm,” she whispered in Randvior’s ear and he nodded approval.

  “Which stones inspired you?” he asked wickedly while he helped her onto the dais.

  Mortified by his question, she jabbed him in the ribs. Movement in her periphery grabbed her attention. The man she spotted needed no introduction. Their eyes met. His were as beautiful as Randvior’s.

  “Flesh and bone you say?” she teased looking between them. “You grossly under-described your sire—the resemblance is uncanny.”

  Anundr chuckled and offered his hand. She leaned over and affectionately cradled it in hers, feeling as if she’d known him all her life. If she couldn’t gain a mother, please let this man be her second father.

  “My son didn’t exaggerate a bit.” He eyed Randvior. “Your wife is as beautiful as the alpenglow.”

  Too embarrassed to admit she didn’t understand the word he used to describe her, Noelle simply smiled.

  “’Tis a great shame she cannot fully appreciate my compliment. Alpenglow is the golden-red light that illuminates the mountains at sunset,” he explained. “It’s nearly as radiant as Gabriel’s golden mantle.” He turned his face to Randvior. “Hire a tutor to teach her our language.”