“Then we return to our ships,” Lorna stated.
They spent the rest of the early morning making plans. There were arguments over whether they ride back to Mackay land and hope to capture Grímr and his forces as they headed north or should they use the Ross birlinns to sail to Sutherland, where Kenneth’s clan would provide more boats to get them back to Tongue and Castle Varrich.
“There are not enough boats here to carry all of us to Sutherland. Even if the Mackenzies and MacLeods rode home, we still can’t get everyone to Sutherland,” Rangvald argued. “Then we prioritize who sails to Sutherland, and we send back boats for the others,” Lorna responded.
“Doesn’t that defeat the point of the boats offering us speed? If we have to wait for them to ferry back and forth, then we don’t gain any time,” Rangvald looked down at his wife, who stood with her hands on her hips, not at all intimidated by a husband who was twice her size.
“Nae when I ken the currents will still move us faster than a horse. Once we are all on Sutherland, they will have birlinns to join the ones we take from here.” Lorna swung around to look at Kenneth. “How many do ye have we can borrow?”
“If we sail to Crumbathyn, we might pick up a dozen or so from the keep and neighboring fishermen. But I dinna think that’s the best way to go. We are better off riding. It’ll take us far longer than to just go on horseback.”
Rangvald gloated as he looked at Lorna, whose eyes shot daggers at him. “Vera well,” she conceded.
By midmorning, they were ready to ride out. They had rounded the Welsh archers who survived, along with several young Ross men and women. They left behind the married women and children with the wounded. The ones who survived the journey on foot would become servants once they returned to the Trondelag. The Highlanders bit their tongues despite being adamantly opposed to the practice. It was the price of peace and keeping the alliance between the Mackays and Rangvald’s tribe, which meant the Sutherlands, Mackenzies, and MacLeods would benefit by extension.
Alex Mackay, Kenneth Sutherland, Andrew MacLeod, and Tormod Mackenzie rode together, refusing to discuss what happened behind them as the Norsemen rode out with their line of captives bound at the wrists.
“We canna ignore the Munros who joined in with the Rosses and this bluidy Norsemen. They fled like the wee cowards they are, but they willna remain quiet if they can rally against the rest of us,” Tormod looked at his companions. They were not always on good terms, but they had a common enemy now, and that made them the best of friends.
“I suspect we can track them to Castle Foulis rather than Castle Varrich,” Alex scowled when he pictured anyone making their way to his home other than him. “It may be worth the detour to check.”
“Nay. Let me go,” Kenneth spoke up. “It’s closer to ma home. Ye need to get to Varrich before anyone else does. If Grímr goes to Foulis, too, then we will get him there. But if he doesnae, ye canna risk falling too far behind. If we find him there, then we do away with him, and I’ll send messengers to each of ye. If I dinna find him there, I return home for more men. I’ll meet ye again where Grímr’s boats sit on the Mackenzies’ shore.
“Vera well,” Alex spoke with authority as the oldest in the group.
Kenneth signaled for the Sutherlands to break off, and they turned north to return to their territory, which neighbored both the Rosses and the Munros.
“Where are they going?” Rangvald called out.
“Ye must deal with Grímr, and we must deal with the Munros. We canna allow them to go unpunished for siding with the Norseman. They may be allied with the Rosses, but they put their own heads in the nooses by coming along.” Alex looked over his shoulder as Rangvald drew closer. “We suspect they may head to Castle Foulis, which is closer to the Rosses’ and Munros’ border. If they aren’t there, then we will all meet on the Mackenzies’ shore. Rang, if we don’t pick up their trail, then I must take ma men back to Varrich. I’m sure Grímr kens ye came ashore there. I have to check on ma people.”
“And us? Do we go back to Varrich when we already agreed to go search for them on the coast?” Rangvald demanded.
“Nay. Ye can ride on with the MacLeods and the Mackenzies. Ye will be in good hands with them. None of them want to end up as the Rosses did.” Alex gave a pointed look over his shoulder to where the line of captives trudged, struggling to keep up with those on horseback. “Ye could send yer captives with me, so ye dinna have to drag them along.”
“Can we trust you to not turn them loose?” Freya asked as she rode closer. She and Erik now rode behind Alex since Rangvald and Lorna joined their cousin. The other two Highland leaders rode ahead but kept their ears on the conversation. Tyra and Bjorn were not far behind, and Strian rode in the rear, keeping an eye on the prisoners.
“They are captives from a clan that sought to destroy ma ally and would harm to ma other allies. Why would I show them mercy?”
“Because isn’t that what your White Christ teaches? Turn the other cheek. That is not how we live,” Freya continued.
“I’m well aware,” Alex’s comment had some bite.
“Then we have reason to wonder.”
“Cousin, ye are new to the family, so I ken ye dinna realize that ma honor means everything. I dinna lie, and I dinna play people, ma family, false.”
Erik reached out a hand to keep Freya from responding. She snapped her mouth shut and glared at her husband.
The group fell into silence as each person retreated into their own thoughts until scouts returned in the early afternoon.
“Ma laird, the tracks break off. One set, the larger group, is going north, but there is another group that is now traveling southwest. I dinna ken where they are going. If it’s to Mackenzie land, they should go northwest,” one of the Mackay scouts reported.
Strian joined the group when they spotted the scouts. He was sure where the smaller group was going.
“The smaller group is headed back to Wales in anticipation of when Grímr joins them. I suspect he intends to race us to Varrich so he can destroy our fleet. He knows if he does that, then we can’t leave. We’ll be stuck here with no choice but to enter the skirmishes he arranges. If the Munros do not head where Sutherland suspects, then they are still with Grímr.” Strian looked at the Highlanders who were just as attentive as his friends. “I’d wager he will use the Munros to recruit for him. He will have the Munros convince other clans that they must side with them to protect themselves from the invading Norsemen, us. If I were Grímr, and I had a clan willing to ally with me, I would retreat and let them do the dirty work.”
The others listened to his logic and knew it was sound.
“You are quite the strategist. If you were not on our side, I would worry about how your mind works.” Bjorn grinned as he gripped Strian’s shoulder. “Did someone give you some insight?” he whispered the last part.
“Not willingly.” Strian’s hushed tones did not carry beyond Bjorn.
“But you’re sure?”
“As I can be.”
“Good enough for now, I suppose.”
“This changes things,” Erik looked at the other Norsemen. “If what Strian suggests is true, and I have to agree with him, then we need to make our way to our ships, not Grímr’s. If he traps us here, then we can’t stop him.”
“And if Strian is wrong?” Tyra finally spoke up. Her glance was apologetic, but they were used to her being the voice of dissent, not because she disagreed, but because they always needed to consider their plans from every angle.
“If ye dinna mind ma suggestions,” interjected Tormod Mackenzie, beaming at Tyra and Freya. “We all must head north regardless of whether we follow Mackay to his land, or we return to ours. We continue that way, and if the tracks lead elsewhere, we follow them. If they lead to Mackay land, and Alex says ye dinna need us, then ma men and the MacLeods go to Grímr’s boats. I dinna have any qualms burning his boats, or better yet, breaking them apart for firewood.”
“He’
s right,” Freya smiled back but yelped when Erik lifted her from her saddle and dumped her in front of him.
“Ride with me wife. I’ve missed you,” grumbled Erik.
“About time. I was wondering when you’d invite me,” Freya’s smile to her husband was pure seduction.
“Then we find somewhere to water the horses and ride north,” Andrew MacLeod had remained silent during all the negotiations. He was like Strian and often the voice of reason, but he preferred to observe then act on his decisions rather than blindly trusting the decision making of others.
Seventeen
They made steady progress north after watering the horses at a stream the scouts found. Erik and Freya whispered to one another, taking turns blushing. Tyra watched them and wondered if she and Bjorn would ever be that affectionate in public. She dared sneak peeks from the corner of her eyes, but Bjorn was paying keen attention to their surroundings. She tried not to sigh aloud. Tyra respected Bjorn’s commitment to their safety and how seriously he took his role as the leader of their warriors, but she was unable to not quell the envy that tickled her gut when she watched Freya and Erik together. She and Bjorn had made progress unlike any she imagined, but there was still much for them to learn about one another when it came to being in a romantic relationship.
They stopped for the night when they became unable to travel with such a large force in the dark and because it was impossible for the captives to trudge behind them for any longer. Tyra maneuvered her horse into line with the others as one of the shieldmaidens and her husband hobbled the horses together. She was about to swing her leg over her saddle when large, firm hands grasped her waist. Bjorn plucked her from her horse as though she weighed little more than a child. As he lowered her to the ground, he pressed their bodies together, his arousal pressing against her.
“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it has been for me to ride like this all day?”
Tyra’s brow furrowed with confusion.
“Does that happen when you are in the saddle that long?”
Bjorn chuckled and shook his head.
“Only when I ride near you. I’ve just never been able to tell you before.”
“I don’t understand why. You spent the day focused on scouting our surroundings.”
Bjorn lifted her chin and looked into her luminescent eyes.
“Can you guess why I couldn’t stop looking around, checking for any signs of danger? Because contemplating us being attacked, of you being taken or injured, is unbearable to me. It doesn’t mean I paid any less attention to you. There wasn’t a moment when I wasn’t aware of exactly where you were or what you were doing. After the battle, I realized riding double only puts you in danger.”
Tyra leaned in to kiss him, and it was a soft brushing of their lips, a testimony to the love and tenderness they shared. It was not only desire, but love.
“Thank you.”
“You’re not angry? You won’t tell me you can fend for yourself?”
“I know you know I can. I enjoy knowing you care enough to still try to protect me.”
“Ty, Erik might be comfortable holding Freya while they ride, but if they ambush us, neither of them can fight properly riding double. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take when we’re in pursuit of our enemy. It doesn’t mean I want to hold you any less than Erik wants to hold Freya.”
“Will you hold me tonight?”
“I hadn’t planned on letting go.”
They walked arm-in-arm to the campsite where fires were already being built. Tyra looked around and spotted Freya with her bow. Her friend looked at her and gestured toward the trees that surrounded their campsite.
“Bjorn, Freya and I are going to hunt.”
Bjorn tensed but smiled then nodded. It made him uneasy to let her go. She understood it was not him being controlling, but it was a fear born out of what they already endured.
“Do you want to come with us?” She rested her hand on his arm.
Bjorn shook his head and forced a smile.
“No. I will set up our bedrolls while you go.”
Tyra leaned in for a kiss before grinning, “You shall make me a good little wife one day.”
She danced away, but not fast enough to avoid a firm spank. Bjorn watched as she walked into the trees with Freya and several other women. He turned back and unsaddled their horses, bringing their saddles closer to the fire to use as pillows. He laid out their bedrolls, overlapping them. When he finished, he joined Erik and Strian at the fire and welcomed the mead horn they passed. The air had a chill, and the mead warmed his belly. The three men chatted until Freya and Tyra stepped out of the woods with the other women. Bjorn and Erik released audible sighs then broke into laughter. However, Bjorn’s dried up when Tormod walked in front of Tyra. His pose was not intimidating but flirtatious.
“Don’t,” Strian spoke under his breath. Bjorn looked at him, but Strian shook his head. “Don’t go over there, charging like an angered bull. You can’t keep being so possessive. She isn’t interested in anyone but you. If you’re overly protective, you will make her look weak. As though she can no longer defend herself. Best case, she politely declines. Worst case, she cuts off his cock and hands it to him. Either way, she will be at your side soon enough.”
Tyra watched as Freya grinned and walked away when Tormod stopped her. She would admit he was a handsome man with his fiery red hair and charming smile, but she liked Bjorn’s brooding more and blond hair. She smiled and dipped her head before trying to step around him.
“What is he to you?”
Tyra did not misunderstand, but she was not interested in answering anyone’s demands, least of which came from a man she did not know.
“Who is the blond man?” Tormod tried again.
“You have to be more specific than that. We’re all blond.” Tyra was not about to give in.
“Bjorn. Who is he to you?”
“My husband.”
“That isn’t what I was told.”
“And you’ve been asking? I wouldn’t let Bjorn find out. We have an arrangement much like what your people call a handfast.”
“Then it is only a trial and can end.”
“No. It is only until our priestess can perform the rituals. We have already declared our commitment to one another. He’s my husband.”
She tried to step around him, but he shifted once more.
“I don’t believe that. I know your people don’t always marry. You are companions who may leave and move on whenever you want.”
“We may not believe in marriage as your White Christ teaches you, but our pledges are just as sacred. Bjorn is my husband.” Tyra’s voice hardened like the shards of ice from the glaciers near her home. “I think you want the novelty of bedding a Norsewoman to then brag how you tamed a savage. I’m not interested. If you want a good poke, there are plenty of other women who would enjoy obliging. We don’t lock away our virginity like something to be scared off. Find one of them. You’re bound to learn something.”
Tyra was done being polite. She walked forward, her shoulder landing in Tormod’s hard enough to make him step back. Tyra gave the rabbits she killed to the men skinning and preparing the meal. She joined Bjorn by the fire and was glad to accept the mead he handed her.
“Is everything all right?” Bjorn wrapped his arm around Tyra’s waist as she wrapped both of hers around him and leaned into his shoulder.
“Yes. I just realized how much I appreciate you, and how much I prefer you over any other man.”
Bjorn kissed her forehead. “Who would’ve dared imagine you would say those things to me?”
“I didn’t.” Tyra leaned back. “I told Tormod you’re my husband. We’ve said we’re husband and wife already, but is that true?”
“Tyra, you are not my companion or my mistress. I am not your lover. Those are relationships that can end, that either of us can walk away from. You may have every right to divorce me whenever you want, but ours is a marriage the gods
created. It has been our fate since we were children. I’m sure if Sigrid were here, she would tell you the same. No priestess has blessed us, but we are married.” Bjorn kissed her forehead again. “If I have to, I shall claim we handfasted and are learning to accept the way of the Scots.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would if it laid to rest anyone’s doubts that you’re my wife.”
Tyra’s hand slid up Bjorn’s belly as his muscles rippled under her fingers. She placed it over his heart. Bjorn pulled her against his body more and cupped her jaw. They rested their foreheads together.
“I love you,” they said as one before melting into a kiss that left them both looking for privacy.
“We can’t,” Bjorn sighed. “I’m not having a repeat of last time.”
“Others will make love tonight. We will just be quieter.”
Bjorn looked doubtful.
“You look as though you’ve never done that before.”
Bjorn’s face heated as red creeped from his neck to his ears. Tyra covered her mouth as she giggled. His face glowed in the firelight.
“We both have pasts.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to revisit them. With you.”
“You’re mine now, so what does it matter if we talk about it?”
“Because when I think about your past, I want to rip Knud’s limbs from his body then spit down his throat.”
“But you know how things stood between us.”
“I do. But I didn’t then. And he isn’t the only man I want to bludgeon. I don’t like being reminded of you with someone else. Not when I could have avoided it.”
“You don’t know that. Perhaps the gods didn’t want us together yet. Perhaps we tampered with fate that day, and we shouldn’t have made love.”
“Ty, don’t say that,” his voice rough. “I never want to look back at those moments with regret. I have enough for everything that happened afterwards.”
“I don’t regret it either. Not now. I was angry for too long, and I robbed myself of a happy memory because of it.”
Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3) Page 20