Viking Warrior

by Connie Mason

  Wulf had listened to the exchange with growing anger. He was no slave. He was the son of a jarl and brother to one. He was known far and wide as a fierce warrior. Not only had he successfully fought off raiders among his own countrymen seeking to expand their lands, but he’d also battled both Finn and Dane marauders. He had sailed to Byzantium and back without mishap or loss of life or limb.

  Wulf knew his brother would pay the danegeld gladly; that did not worry him. What did concern him was submitting to slavery until the ransom arrived. How had he gotten himself into such a degrading situation? How had it come to this? He had been so intent upon his thoughts of Reyna that the enemy had caught him off guard. Never would he forgive himself the lapse.

  The shame, the embarrassment of being a thrall made him furious. He glared at Reyna, his fire and ice eyes ablaze with the promise of retribution.

  “So be it,” Borg approved. “We will demand danegeld for the Norseman.”

  “Aye,” Dag agreed. “Come spring, we will sail across the sea to deliver our demands.”

  Maida regarded her daughter thoughtfully. “We should leave it up to Reyna. She was the one abused by the Norse brute.”

  “Mother, I was not abused by Wulf, truly. Wulf’s family treated me well, and I grew to care for and respect them. I also came to know Wulf. He was not an easy master, but he did not mistreat me. He raided our farmstead as a random act of revenge for the death of his wife and unborn child at the hands of our countrymen.”

  Wulf gave Reyna credit for telling the truth, though he did it grudgingly. He had raided two other farmsteads that summer and Reyna’s had been the last. All the farmsteads had been within easy reach of where his flotilla of ships had landed. His brothers at arms had returned home loaded with loot and thralls, except for Wulf, who had sailed on to Constantinople with Reyna. He had gained more from her sale to the slave trader than all the loot combined.

  Wulf’s expression must have been fierce for Harald said, “The Norseman is a danger to us. We should lock him up until he comes to terms with his fate.”

  “I have ears,” Wulf growled. “If you think you can keep me locked up and fettered like an animal, you are wrong.”

  “Wulf,” Reyna intervened. “Listen to me. If you give your word that you will not try to escape or harm anyone in my family, I will not let them lock you away.”

  “Now see here, Reyna,” Borg protested, “the Norseman cannot be trusted. He will kill us all in our beds.”

  “Not if he gives his promise. I believe Wulf is a man of honor.”

  “Ha!” Maida mocked. “The Norseman has no honor.”

  Wulf drew himself up to his full height. “I have more honor than the marauding Danes who kill women and children.”

  “Do you give your word?” Reyna pressed, ignoring his outburst. “If you do not, you may have to spend the entire winter in a windowless hut, locked away from human contact.”

  Wulf considered Reyna’s words. He would go mad if he could not see the sky or smell the freshness of new-fallen snow. He needed to exercise his muscles and keep his mind agile. But agreeing to subjugate himself to slavery infuriated his considerable pride. Norsemen did not make good thralls.

  However, the alternative of imprisonment was not attractive. Could he submit to slavery until spring, when his ransom was demanded and the danegeld arrived?

  “I am waiting for your answer, Wulf,” Reyna prodded. “If you agree, your bonds will be removed immediately.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Borg interrupted. “I am not sure that is wise. He should be kept in bonds until he learns humility.”

  Wulf threw back his head and laughed. “Like your sister learned humility? She never behaved like a thrall. Instead, she ingratiated herself with my family and was given a sleeping alcove of her own. How many thralls earn that kind of trust from their masters?”

  “Is that true, Reyna?” Harald asked.

  “Aye, my healing skills found favor with Wulf’s family and I earned their respect as well as favors not normally given to thralls.”

  “Reyna refused to acknowledge her status as a thrall,” Wulf continued, “yet I did not punish her for her disobedient nature.”

  “Also true,” Reyna admitted.

  Reyna’s brothers grinned. “Our sister has not a submissive bone in her body. We are happy to hear she has not changed despite her suffering at your hands,” Borg said.

  Wulf winced. True, Reyna had suffered enslavement because of him. But he had not sexually abused her. Their coming together had been a pleasure that both wanted.

  Until now, Ragnar had neither interrupted the homecoming nor the discussion about Wulf’s fate. Apparently he could hold his tongue no longer.

  “I will wed Reyna and take her home with me. Though the Norseman has had her in his bed, I will overlook her sins and make sure my parents welcome her in our hall.”

  Wulf stiffened. Reyna had committed no sins. He shot a glance at her and saw something in her expressive green eyes that kept him silent.

  “I thank you, Ragnar, but under the circumstances, I release you from our betrothal contract. As you so aptly put it, I am used goods. I do not expect you to sacrifice yourself on my account.”

  Wulf would have clapped had his hands been free. Ragnar was not worthy of Reyna.

  “Daughter,” Harald reprimanded, “think about what you have just said. Ragnar is willing to wed you despite your…er…well, you know what I mean.”

  “I know what I am about, Father. I am sure Ragnar can find a bride less tainted than I.”

  Wulf felt like cheering even though he bristled when Reyna claimed she was tainted.

  “Is that your final word, Reyna?” Ragnar asked. “Because Jarl Otto’s daughter has hinted that she would be happy to have me as a husband. You were gone so long, I started courting her last year.”

  “Wed her with my blessing,” Reyna replied without a hint of remorse.

  Ragnar stared at Reyna a full minute before turning and stalking off.

  “You were not kind to him, daughter,” Maida chided. “He may be your only hope of marriage.”

  “It is over, Mother. Let it be. Ragnar would never let me forget I once belonged to a Norseman, or that I resided in a harem. I am home with my loved ones—that is all that matters. I hope you have prepared something good to eat, for I am famished.”

  “Lock the Norseman in the grain shed until he agrees to our terms,” Harald ordered. “After a few days of isolation, he will be more amenable to our offer.”

  Wulf glanced at the tiny shed Reyna’s brothers were prodding him toward and balked. How terrible could it be to pretend to be Reyna’s thrall? Surely it was better than moldering in a tiny, airless shed with no windows.

  “Wait!” Wulf said. Whipping around, he directed his gaze at Reyna. “Tell me again what I must agree to.”

  Borg answered in Reyna’s stead. “You must vow on your honor as a Norseman…”

  “Ha! He has no honor,” Maida repeated.

  “You must promise,” Borg continued, “to become Reyna’s thrall, to do her bidding without complaint and to make no threat to anyone on the farmstead until your danegeld arrives.”

  “And once it arrives, will I be free to return home?”

  “Aye, on my honor as a Dane.”

  “Such as it is,” Wulf muttered.

  Borg bristled. “We do not kill and plunder, Wulf the Ruthless. We are farmers and traders. You would already be in Valhalla if Reyna had not begged us to spare you. Do you agree to serve our family as she served yours until you are returned to your homeland?”

  What choice did Wulf have? Though submitting to slavery shamed him, he would swallow his pride and agree to the terms.

  “Very well, I agree. You have my word as a Norse warrior to abide by the terms you have set forth. But once the danegeld arrives, you must return me to my homeland.”

  Borg nodded. Wulf extended his bound arms to Borg. “Cut me free.”

  When Borg hesit
ated, Wulf growled, “Why do you hesitate? Do you fear me? I have nowhere to go. With winter coming, I would be stupid to attempt a sea crossing without sailors to man a ship, even if by some miracle I were to escape.”

  Borg slashed the ropes binding Wulf’s wrists. “I fear no man, Norseman. Remember that and act accordingly. If you fail to obey my sister or attempt to harm her, you will face instant death.”

  “A warrior’s death is a good death,” Wulf shot back, “but fear not, Borg the Dane, no harm will come to your sister at my hands.”

  Wulf had been bound several days; the lack of circulation to his hands had caused him a great deal of pain. Though that pain now radiated from Wulf’s numb hands to his shoulders, his expression showed no emotion save disdain for his captors.

  “Inside, all of you,” Maida said, holding the door open. “First we will eat and then we will learn more about Reyna’s time away from us. Perhaps she will tell us of the wonders she encountered in the harem. ’tis the one place her brothers have not visited in their travels to Byzantium.”

  Reyna cast a surreptitious glance at Wulf before following her mother into the hall. He met her gaze with an inscrutable look she could not decipher. But it didn’t take a genius to know that although their circumstances might be reversed, Wulf would not bend beneath the yoke of slavery.

  Chapter Ten

  Wulf sat on the bench Borg had indicated and waited to see what would happen next. As the family gathered around Reyna, hugging her again and again, Wulf took note of his surroundings. It was a large hall, but he saw only two thralls, both women. A tall, blonde young woman caught his eye immediately. She appeared Nordic in looks, and he wondered if she was from his own country.

  The lack of thralls appeared to confirm Maida’s words that the family had been forced to sell its thralls in order to survive after the raid. The hall itself was snug and warm but without the ornamentation and rich furnishings of Hagar’s hall.

  The delicious smell of food coming from various iron pots hanging over the hearth made Wulf’s mouth water. He watched as the family members seated themselves around the table and wondered if they intended to starve him. It seemed not, for after the family had been served heaping bowls of savory stew and thick slices of bread, the blonde thrall carried a bowl of stew, a spoon, and a slice of bread spread with yellow butter to him and set them down on the bench beside him.

  “Are you Norse?” the girl asked in a hushed voice.

  “Aye, and so are you if I am not mistaken.”

  “Aye, I was taken in a raid last summer and sold to Jarl Harald at the slave market in Rika. My name is Haley.”

  “Have you been treated well, Haley?”

  “Aye, but the work is hard. Once Harald buys more thralls, things will get easier.” She sighed. “Had the gods favored me, I would still be home with my parents and sisters. I was the only one of four sisters unlucky enough to be caught by the raiders.”

  “Haley,” Borg called, “fetch us some ale. And fill a horn for our new thrall.”

  Haley hurried off to do Borg’s bidding. Wulf dipped a hunk of bread into the stew and popped it in his mouth. The stew was as delicious as it smelled and he dug in with gusto. It was a plain but filling meal and Wulf was satisfied with the fare. It didn’t take a seer to know that the family had suffered reverses since the raid and he felt a pang of guilt. But at the time he had been too consumed with grief to care about the farmstead or its habitants.

  Maida rose to help the thralls clear the table and put away the food. Wulf began to relax when he heard Maida say, “Reyna, tell your thrall to fetch water from the well. The water barrel is empty.”

  Wulf met Reyna’s gaze. The challenge in his eyes collided with the determination in hers.

  Reyna rose gracefully from the bench. “I will show him where to find the well. Follow me, Wulf.”

  Wulf waited to see if Reyna’s brothers would intervene, and when they did not, he followed her out the door. The well was not in the center of the yard but behind one of the outbuildings.

  “It will take several bucketfuls to fill the water barrel,” Reyna said as Wulf lowered the wooden bucket into the well.

  Scowling, Wulf sent her a dismissive look. “I suppose you are happy now that you can order me to do your bidding.”

  Reyna returned his scowl with a satisfied smile. “I am supremely happy. Give thanks that you are still alive. Being a thrall does not seem so bad when you consider the alternative. Now you know how I felt. Does it hurt your pride to serve me? Does it shame you? Make you feel less a man?”

  Wulf felt all those things and more. Helpless. Enraged. Yet still hungry for the Dane vixen standing beside him, looking smug and far too lovely for his peace of mind. How would he manage an entire winter in her company without acting on his impulse to toss her to the ground and thrust himself inside her?

  “The bucket is full, take it inside,” Reyna said, interrupting his lustful thoughts.

  Wulf’s temper rapidly reached the boiling point. Knocked unconscious, carried across the sea to the land of the Danes and forced into slavery, he wanted to rail against the gods. How had his life gone awry in so short a time? He glared at Reyna, aware that there was nothing he could do about his current situation…except persevere until his ransom arrived.

  Forgetting his lowly position, ignoring the danger in acting impulsively, Wulf snared Reyna around the waist, pulled her hard against him and kissed her.

  Reyna felt the anger in his kiss, the frustration, and understood those emotions from personal experience. Though she fought her reaction, his kiss aroused feelings she had tried to keep tightly under control. She recalled his lovemaking and her avid response. She remembered how frightened she had been at first, for she had let no man touch her after she had been cruelly ravished.

  But despite his size, despite his gruff exterior, Wulf had not hurt her. He had been an ardent lover, demanding a response that she had willingly given. She had enjoyed their mutual passion far too much.

  Wulf’s kisses grew frenzied, his tongue slipping between her teeth to explore her mouth. A small cry gurgled from her throat when she felt his hands on her breasts, kneading the soft mounds and pinching her nipples into hard points.

  This should not be happening, Reyna silently raged. Her brothers would kill Wulf if they knew what he was doing. Reason made her break off the kiss and push him away.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

  “I want you, Reyna. Being a prisoner has not changed that. How many times must you save my life before you realize you want me as much as I want you?”

  “You are mad!” Reyna spat. “My brothers will kill you if they find you kissing me.”

  Wulf shrugged. “Perhaps death is preferable to wearing the yoke of slavery.”

  Still feeling the effects of Wulf’s kiss, Reyna backed away from him. “Carry the water to the hall. Now that you know where the well is located, you can fill the barrel without my direction.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” Wulf taunted.

  “No, I am not. Be careful, Wulf the Ruthless. I may not be around to save your life the next time. Or”—she paused for effect—“I may not care enough to save your hide yet again.”

  Head held high, Reyna walked away on shaky legs, still reeling from Wulf’s kiss. As she reentered the hall, determination stiffened her spine. She was the mistress and Wulf the slave. Before he returned to his homeland, she wanted him to know, as she had known, how slavery strangled one’s soul.

  Reyna joined her parents and brothers, who were gathered around the hearth, surreptitiously watching Wulf make several trips to the well to fill the barrel. When the barrel was full, he looked at Reyna. She gestured toward the bench and he returned to his former place. A short time later the thrall named Haley joined him. Reyna watched them closely, well aware of how females reacted to Wulf’s blatant masculinity. She was not surprised to see Haley and Wulf, heads together, engaging in intimate conversation.

  Wulf
glanced at Reyna. Then, catching her eye, he smiled blandly and returned to his conversation with Haley.

  “Where did Haley come from?” Reyna asked her father.

  “I bought her in Rika after your brothers returned from Byzantium. Their successful trading voyage returned some of our former prosperity to us. The other thrall’s name is Alice; she is Saxon. We bought them at the same time.”

  “Haley is a beauty,” Dag said, ogling the young Norse-woman.

  Borg laughed. “Wulf the Ruthless seems to think so. We had better keep him busy; the female thralls seem quite taken with him.”

  “Take him out to cut wood tomorrow,” Harald suggested. “He is our only male thrall; his services are needed to prepare the farmstead for the winter months.”

  One by one, the family drifted off to their sleeping alcoves, leaving Reyna sitting alone, staring thoughtfully into the fire. The two thralls removed wolf pelts from a cupboard and made their beds on wide benches against the wall. Wulf waited to see what Reyna would do. He remained watchful as she rose and lit a rush in the hearth. Then she plucked her cloak from a hook, strode over to him and said, “Follow me.”

  Wulf followed her outside. She strode purposefully toward a small hut, opened the door and walked inside. Wulf entered behind her.

  “The stillroom. My mother and I used to prepare our herbal remedies here. It was partially destroyed during the raid and rebuilt. It needs a great deal of work before I can use it.”

  She gestured with the rush toward a small hearth. “You can begin by bringing some of the wood you gather tomorrow and stacking it beside the hearth. The table needs repairing and lines need to be strung up to dry the plants I collect.”

  Wulf gestured toward a stack of folded wolf pelts on the table. “What should I do with those pelts?”

  “Leave the pelts; they may be of some use in here. After you chop wood with my brothers in the morning, you can work in here in the afternoon. I will inform my brothers of your work schedule.”

  Wulf studied the room with a critical eye. Could he convince Reyna to let him use it as his private sleeping chamber? He would prefer sleeping on a pallet of furs rather than in a crowded hall. Privacy was important to him.