Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  “Enough. I just want to understand something, then I won’t ask any more of you. If you want to sail on another ship, I will arrange it.”

  “Very well. What?”

  “Has it always been that way? I mean, we heard what you said. Has it always been like that?”

  Gunnhild sucked in a breath that whistled through her teeth.

  “Yes. At least once he’d bedded you, or at least I assume that’s what happened because he never talked about you before that day he spied you hugging Strian.”

  “You know about that?”

  “I watched the whole thing. It was impossible to miss the hurt and rejection, so I used it to my advantage. Helga and I both did, but it was your name he kept whispering.”

  “Didn’t that bother you?”

  “You must not remember what he can do with that cock and tongue, or perhaps you never had time to find out. I can keep a secret for what he can do.”

  Tyra rose to her feet, feeling much more sober than she knew she was.

  “If it didn’t bother you, then why taunt me? Why bother trying to goad me and hurt me?”

  “That has nothing to do with Bjorn. I just don’t like you. You’re privileged and entitled all because Frú Lena was friends with your mother, and you got to play with Freya as a child. You think it makes yourself equal to Freya. You’re not. You have no relations with the jarl’s family, and you’re nothing but a penniless orphan. You should remember your place.”

  Tyra forced herself to keep her face neutral despite the vitriol spewing from Gunnhild.

  “It would seem my place is under, or perhaps on top of, Bjorn since that’s where he wants to be.” Tyra sniped.

  “Bitch.”

  “Bitch with a man who wants her enough to pretend every other woman is her.”

  Gunnhild lashed out, but Tyra’s instincts overcame her heartache. Tyra grasped Gunnhild’s wrist and twisted it before pressing it back.

  “You won’t be able to row with a broken wrist, and if you can’t row, then you are worthless. Would you like us to leave you behind? Would you like everyone watch me beat you? Or would you like to answer my last question?” she pressed harder against Gunnhild’s arm.

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  “What was the price for your silence, or was it just enough to let him fuck you?”

  “He paid good coin along with bringing me pleasure,” she sucked in another whistling breath, “And he threatened me. More than once I said something against you, and those are the only times in my life I feared death. I worried he would kill me, so I kept my mouth shut around others.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I wanted.”

  Gunnhild shook out her wrist and smirked.

  “I’d get off your high horse and ride him before you miss your chance altogether. He’s waited ten years for you, but he’s virile and will need sons. He can’t wait for you forever.”

  Tyra watched as Gunnhild found a spot near the fire and cradled her wrist. Then she looked toward the beach. The sliver of rational thought left cautioned her not to follow Bjorn to the beach, but the rest of her thoughts lurched in his direction, and her body followed.

  Bjorn sat with his jug of mead between his bent legs. He took drags from it until the last drop washed down his throat. Now, he watched the waves lap along the beach and bang against the hulls of the anchored fleet. He laid back and covered his eyes with his forearm. Despite not being able to see her, Bjorn knew when Tyra arrived on the beach. He was tucked away beside a log, and now that he was lying down, he knew she did not spot him. He waited until her footsteps came near him. He did not have it in him to go another round with her. His head and his heart hurt too much for any more rejection. He deepened his breathing and stilled his body. He knew when she found him, but she did not rouse him.

  “Why can’t I ever tell you what I need to say? Why do I ruin everything every time?”

  Bjorn inched his arm from his eyes, but she was already running back to the camp. He closed his eyes and let the alcohol carry him into a land of dreamless sleep.

  The fleet and its sailors remained on the small island for three more days while Tyra led the repairs. She avoided everyone but Freya, and even then, it relieved her that her friend spent more time with Erik than her. She spent each night after her confrontation with Gunnhild in her cabin. Bjorn watched her retire to her ship and slipped to the beach to stand watch. He did not trust so many men knowing she slept isolated from the others. The nights were uneventful, but neither of them slept well.

  Seven

  Tyra led the fleet into the bay below the Mackay keep, the alarms ringing as Erik and Freya waded ashore. Lorna and Rangvald’s bickering carried on the breeze as they followed Freya and Erik to the shore.

  “Alex,” Erik’s voiced boomed. “Come greet your favorite cousin. And me.”

  A dark head that resembled Erik’s appeared over the battlements.

  “Freya? And Lorna? Erik, you should have mentioned both of my favorite cousins are here. Plus you. And Rangvald.”

  It was only moments later before Alex Mackay and an entourage of guards made their way to the tops of the cliff.

  “And you brought friends. Ready for another round of hide-and-go-seek with your friend, Grímr?”

  “I am. Are you?”

  “We’ve been impatient for your return. We’ve been getting along with our neighbors too well, and I fear my men will grow soft. Bring your people up. They can set up camp just outside the bailey wall.”

  Freya waved to her along with Strian and Bjorn. They each waded ashore and followed the two couples to the crest of the cliff. Tyra had to admit the looming structure that greeted them impressed her. It was even more impressive on level ground than from the sea. She watched Alex greet his family, and once more she was left out. She stood between Strian and Bjorn, and she sensed all three orphans felt the same longing.

  “Shall we?” Strian muttered.

  Rangvald and Lorna led their group as Lorna looked at how the land had changed since her last visit several years ago. Freya and Erik hung back to walk with their friends, while Alex cast Tyra appreciative glances and a wicked smile. She looked at him and admitted to herself that he was just as attractive as Fritjof, if not more, but his resemblance to Erik made it seem wrong to look at him. Bjorn’s tension was palpable as Alex turned toward her.

  “Erik has no manners. He failed to introduce me to you,” Alex directed his words at all three of them, but it was clear he spoke to Tyra.

  “I’m Strian, and this is Tyra and Bjorn.”

  Alex grinned as he locked forearms with the two men, a clear struggle to determine whose grasp was stronger. His touch was much gentler when he grasped forearms with Tyra.

  “A pleasure to meet you. And where is the great Leif I heard about? And his wife Sigrid?”

  Freya piped in, “My brother and Sigrid remained at home because she is carrying my first nephew.”

  “Nephew? How can you be so sure? Perhaps it’s a wee niece for me to spoil,” Erik teased.

  “You shall spoil that child no matter whether it’s a girl or a boy.”

  “True, wife, and I’m sure I will learn from your example.”

  “Likely.”

  Tyra watched Freya and Erik banter before she looked to Alex. He was not watching his cousin. Tyra ducked her head but smiled. She glanced at Bjorn to see he was not paying attention. She looked up and followed his gaze, but she could not tell what he saw. He seemed to stare into space.

  “Bjorn?” she whispered.

  He did not answer and walked faster. Tyra looked at Strian, but he shrugged as they watched Bjorn walk toward the loch rather than follow the others to the keep.

  “Do we wait?” Strian whispered.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Neither do I. He only looks this way when he sails out for his two days each year.”

  Tyra looked back to Bjorn as he skipped stones across the loch. Lo
rna came to stand with Strian and Tyra.

  “You wouldn’t remember this, but Ivar sent men with Rangvald and me during one of our voyages here. Bjorn’s father was one of them. We traded with my family, and Rangvald and I introduced Ivar’s people to the Mackays, forming an alliance of sorts. We brought back many things, and one was sickness. Bjorn’s father was home three days before he and Bjorn’s mother died of the illness. Bjorn had been staying at the jarl’s home, so he played with his cousins. He never saw his parents before they died. His father understood he was growing ill and insisted Bjorn stay away. His wife refused to go. She wanted to tend him, and she died beside him.”

  The news knocked the air from her, and from the stricken look on Strian’s face, he felt the same way.

  “You go to him,” she nudged Strian. “I only cause him pain.”

  Strian nodded before moving toward the loch and Bjorn. Remorse flooded Tyra once again as she remembered the unkind things she had said and how she allowed her mind to conjure about Bjorn. She remembered his parents died of a sickness, but she had never learned the details. She did not know he had not seen his parents before their death. She had learned more about Bjorn in the past moon than she had known during their entire lives.

  It was three days before Freya and Erik led the Norsemen from Castle Varrich with Alex and his men beside them. They agreed to give the visitors a few days to recover from the arduous voyage and for the Norsemen to train alongside the Highlanders with the hope they would learn from one another. Despite a few squabbles, it was a success. The two armies shared tactics and strategies, the Norsemen learning how to anticipate their enemies while the Highlanders learned several moves that they would have considered savage if they were not so effective. During those three days, Bjorn was unusually withdrawn and quiet. He said little but trained harder than most. He drove himself to the brink of exhaustion, so he fell into bed every night too tired to think about where he was or the pain that came with that realization. He knew they would go to Mackay land, but he never expected it would hurt so much to be where his father became ill. He failed to drive away the ache that settled into his heart, no matter how many drams of whisky he downed during the evening meal. He itched to ride out and not look back. There was nothing to make him lighthearted and jovial like he was at home. He did not miss Tyra’s covert looks of concern, and once they would have excited him and filled him with hope. Now he was numb. His entire life changed because his father visited this keep. It was almost as if his father’s ghost lingered with him, and rather than miss his father, he was livid. Anger swirled through him even though he knew this anger was unreasonable. He remembered his father loved him and his mother above all else, so his father would never have intentionally brought illness to kill him or his wife. That did not change how Bjorn felt. He had been cheated out of a family for as long as he could remember.

  When they rode out from the Mackay keep, Bjorn did not look back. He resolved to return to his ship rather than step foot into the bailey. He was certain he would not return without losing a part of his soul. He looked ahead of him to where Freya and Tyra rode side by side, and Erik rode with Alex. Bjorn began to relax as life shifted back into the predictable. He appreciated riding beside Strian. Before his marriage, Leif would have engaged him in conversation for the entire ride, usually about women that they either had bedded or wanted. Strian offered companionable silence, and it was what Bjorn needed. It soothed his nerves as the tension drained from his shoulders and neck. He leaned from side to side as it cracked, and he breathed a sigh.

  “You sound like an old man,” Strian chuckled, speaking for the first time since they rode out four hours earlier.

  “I feel like one some days. We have lived a long life at over a score.”

  “True. We have done better than many of our friends, but they feast with the gods while we eat these oatcakes the Highlanders call bannocks. I call them dusty turds.”

  It was Bjorn’s turn to laugh. He had to agree with Strian, but he preferred the Highlanders’ dried beef over the Norse pickled herring. He had never liked them, but he had eaten so many over the years, he was sure he was part fish.

  “We should be able to hunt tonight and enjoy fresh meat. I could eat three rabbits on my own with room left over in my belly.”

  “You can stick with your measly rabbits. I would prefer a side of beef.”

  “You’ve always been drawn to heifers.”

  Strian gave him an obscene gesture before grinning. “I like something to hold onto when I plow my fields.”

  “I didn’t know you were a farmer.”

  “I am a man of many talents.”

  The men laughed together, and Bjorn had to admit it was nice to banter with his friend. Strian was the most discreet of the three men who grew up together. He did not speak of his conquests. Bjorn was not even sure if he had any, but he was never short of options and offers. Strian never boasted of any specific woman, but Leif and Bjorn were aware he had been with some of the most beautiful women in their tribe when they were younger.

  Bjorn looked around as they passed through an open field. Everyone was on the lookout as they moved into an unprotected meadow where an attack might come from any direction. His gaze landed on Gunnhild and Solvi. They sneered at him as they both turned to smile at Fritjof, who rode at the front of Rangvald’s contingency. Bjorn did not flinch, since he found he did not care about anyone’s opinion of him. He glanced at Tyra, and nothing registered with him. He had once cared about her opinion above all others, but there was not even a twinge now. He wondered if he was still numb from his reaction to being at Castle Varrich or if he was moving on from Tyra. He looked around again and cast his gaze over the women from his tribe and Rangvald’s. None of them stirred him. He wondered why he was disinterested in all women.

  The combined army of Norsemen and Mackays rode for three days before they came to the place where Mackay land met Sutherland and MacLeod territories. Warriors from each clan awaited them. Bjorn watched as representatives rode forward to speak with Alex, Freya, and Erik. Freya laughed and Erik growled at least once as the two men greeted Freya with greater fervor than either of the men. He watched as both men looked at the Norsemen, and he would have laughed at how soon their gazes reverted back to Tyra, but his jealousy decided it was a good time to roar back to life. Bjorn supposed he exhausted his libido just he had the rest of him as he watched Tyra smile when Freya introduced them. He caught the genuine expression she offered and how it lit up her already-beautiful face. His body reacted as it always did, his mind flooding with misplaced possessiveness.

  As they moved on, Tyra fell back to ride between Bjorn and Strian when Alex, along with the Sutherland and MacLeod leaders, rode beside Freya. Bjorn did not bother smothering his laugh as Erik maneuvered his horse closer to Freya’s. The poor man was stuck. He would never let his wife ride with an unprotected side, so it meant at least one man had to ride alongside her now that Tyra rode with her friends. Erik decided his own cousin was the least of the three evils and got Freya between him and Alex. The other men laughed as Erik bared his teeth. However, it was Erik’s turn to grin when Freya grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss that left no one in doubt of how she felt about her husband. Bjorn glanced at Tyra from the corner of his eye, and he caught the look of jealousy flash across her face. She did not envy Freya for having Erik’s love, but she longed for what the couple had. For the thousandth time in his life, Bjorn wished Tyra would relent so they both might have what Freya and Erik shared.

  Eight

  Bjorn had to admit that Andrew Sutherland and Kenneth MacLeod, heirs to their clans, impressed him. They were mountains of men, much like the rest of their warriors. It was obvious the men from each clan respected their leaders. The men followed with confidence and did their leaders’ bidding because they wanted to, not because they feared Andrew or Kenneth. It reassured Bjorn, since they would enter battle with these men.

  “We shall water t
he horses up ahead,” Andrew called out. The warriors numbered well over one hundred, so it was not a quick event to allow each horse to drink its fill.

  While they stood around waiting, Tyra, Bjorn, and Strian joined Rangvald and Lorna as they spoke to Alex, Andrew, and Kenneth.

  “We ken they’ve moved their camp. After their mad dash after us, they rejoined the handful they left behind and traveled further south. Our scouts reported they found a welcome when they arrived on Ross land. Nae surprising that the bastards would be bosom buddies with invading savages,” Kenneth snarled before he realized how the visitors might react.

  He looked around to find hands on sword hilts, glares shooting daggers at him, and a few snarls. He opened his mouth to apologize, when Lorna dissolved into giggles. It was not long before the others were laughing too.

  “I’m sorry, Rang. I tried nae to laugh and let ye have yer fun, but the poor lad looked like he was about to pish himself.” Lorna continued to giggle. “Oh lad, dinna take it personally. Yer da was a pain in my arse when we were weans. Let him ken I had ma fun at yer expense, and that if he wasna such an auld man and could still sit a horse, I would have had ma laugh at his expense.”

  Every head swung around, shocked Lorna’s accent come back in full force. Her burr was always present and lent a softness to her words, but they had never heard her sound like the Highlanders.

  “What?” Lorna looked at her husband and son.

  “Your Highlander is showing, my love.”

  “Och, aye. I suppose it is. I lived half ma life here. Auld habits die hard, ye ken.”

  “I ken,” Rangvald’s laugh rumbled from deep in his chest as he leaned forward to kiss his wife’s forehead. “You can practice your brogue with me later.”

  Everyone but Erik laughed when the older man winked at his wife. Erik rolled his eyes, used to his parents and their open displays of affection.

  Kenneth shifted in his saddle as he tried to regain some semblance of authority. “I meant nay insult.”