Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  “It won’t be soon enough if his fleet is already on its way to sink ours.”

  Bjorn only shrugged. She was right, and there was little they to do but ride hard the rest of the distance.

  “Do we ride through the night and hope to overtake them or find them when the sun rises?” Bjorn wondered aloud.

  “The road from here to Varrich is well worn and smooth. It wouldnae be impossible to ride in the dark,” Andrew MacLeod spoke up. Tyra looked at him and realized she had forgotten he was part of the warband. “It’s possible if we ride through the night. If we can overtake Grímr and the Munros, then we stand a chance of fighting them and stopping his fleet. If we canna overtake them, then we meet them in the morning and fight. If we kill Grímr, then there will be no one to issue the order to attack yer fleet. If we dinna find him before we get to Varrich, we go after him once we ken yer fleet is safe?”

  “And if he gave a standing order to attack when they are in range?” Freya chimed in.

  “Doubtful. That mon is too prideful. It wouldnae satisfy him to have someone tell him about the destruction later. He will want to witness it,” Andrew explained.

  The others had to admit Andrew had a good understanding of Grímr.

  “What about Strian and the thralls?” Erik joined in.

  “Yer friend and yer captives willna arrive until we’ve already fought any battle, land or sea. If ye’re intent on taking those men and women home, then they shouldnae be near the fighting. They will either get killed or get rescued. The Munros willna let the Rosses go with ye without a fight. Yer Welsh archers willna give in without another fight unless they can escape first. They’ll be in the trees and gone like a puff of wind before ye realize they’re nae there.” Andrew shrugged. “Yer friend might nae like missing a battle, but he seemed very intent on those prisoners. Or at least one of them. He’d rather they stay alive than with you in battle.”

  Tyra was not sure what she made of Andrew MacLeod’s perceptiveness. She wondered what else he had deduced but not said. She had little more time to ruminate on it once they were galloping through the blackened night. They rode as quietly as possible for an army on horseback. The steeds’ hooves churned up the dust and grass while they made the ground vibrate. They risked giving away their approach, but they were desperate to get ahead of Grímr either by strategy or by land.

  Eighteen

  The sky was lightening, but they had yet to discover Grímr or the Munros. Tension was growing among the leaders of the combined forces.

  “How’d he just disappear again?” Tyra asked Bjorn as they rode side by side. “We should have found them by now, unless they are traveling through the night, too.”

  “I would assume they are and may have been since they fled Allenfearn. That’s why we haven’t found them. They may be a day ahead of us.”

  “If that’s the case, either they’ve already raided Alex’s home, or our ships have sunk.” Tyra was demoralized and frustrated. They had traveled throughout the Highlands to do little more than fight the same skirmishes they fought back home. They had accomplished little but lost several good men and women. They did not have Grímr to show for it, and she did not care about the thralls they collected. She had no need for any, and she did not involve herself in the slave trade. She was eager to discover what would happen next. Until that happened, she would remain unsettled.

  “Tyra?” Bjorn spoke again as he tried to gaze at her face in the dimming light of the moon. It was too early for the sun to cast any light.

  “I’m all right. Just annoyed.”

  “We all are. It’s as though this mission has been a failure.”

  Tyra looked at Bjorn. There was more in his voice than she was sure he intended. She leaned against her saddle horn as she twisted to look at his face.

  “Bjorn, you did not fail any of us,” she murmured, mindful that her voice not carry. “You led us to victory in more than one battle. Grímr has a more elaborate network of mercenaries than any of us imagined. He’s branched out into two countries now. The Norse haven’t been to Wales in years. I never imagined they’d help him. I can’t imagine how he’s paying them after how Freya said they stole from him, and Inga is no longer alive to sell the women from her tribe. Either way, don’t doubt yourself. You may lead us in battle, but don’t forget Rangvald was there and so were four clans. None of them got Grímr either.”

  Bjorn reached out and pulled Tyra into his lap, taking her reins from her. He reached back and attached them to his saddle.

  “What’re you doing? I thought you didn’t agree with me riding double with you.”

  “There is little likelihood we will meet up with Grímr soon from what the scouts said. Besides that, I was lonely.”

  “Lonely?” She snorted. “I was close enough for you to pick up.”

  “But you weren’t in my arms.”

  “Where I belong.” It was a statement not a question.

  “Precisely.”

  Tyra leaned against Bjorn and rested her head on his chest. She listened the steady beat of his heart, and she found her eyelids growing heavy. She pulled away and explained she dare not fall asleep, which is what would happen if she remained curled up against him. They rode together until they stopped to water the horses just after dawn.

  “Castle Varrich is still more than half a day away,” Alex announced to the Norse leaders. “Since we havenae caught up to them, they must be headed to meet their ships. If they were already at Varrich, my sentries would have alerted me. I ken several have seen us pass through.”

  “So, what now?” Lorna asked.

  “If they're meeting their boats, they’re doing it at Lairg. Then they must sail to the Minch and then northeast to come around to the Kyle of Tongue.”

  “Can we beat them to Varrich?” Erik asked.

  “Yes. There will be nay way your captives will keep up though. Are you prepared to leave them behind?”

  Erik, Freya, Bjorn, Tyra, Rangvald, and Lorna looked at one another. “Strian,” Freya whispered.

  “No,” Bjorn was emphatic. “We can’t leave Strian and the other Norsemen. The thralls are worthless in comparison.”

  “What do we do?” Tyra’s frustration was clear. “We can’t let Strian and the others get lost. Last they heard was to follow us to Varrich, but what happens if we get there more than a day ahead of them and don’t stay? What if we go hying off after Grímr again?”

  “I’ll ride back for them,” Lorna said. “I’ll get Strian and the others. They can leave the thralls wherever I find them.”

  “Ye’d leave them to the wolves? They’d be unprotected and without aught to eat,” Tormod was aghast.

  “And why not? They were prepared to kill us only a few days ago. They were prepared to send their men to an unknown land to fight an unknown enemy. If they’re the rugged Highlanders you people like to claim to be, they’ll find a way to survive.” Tyra muttered before looking back at the road they traveled as if she expected Strian come over the last rise.

  “Ye people?” Tormod hissed.

  Tyra turned back around and smirked. Tormod opened his mouth, but the threatening look on Bjorn’s face made him think better than to argue with Tyra. Tormod crossed his arms and looked at Lorna instead.

  “Ye canna ride back alone, and Rangvald is more likely to get ye killed than protected. Anyone sees ye with him, and they’ll assume ye’re the captive.”

  Lorna’s peals of laughter had everyone looking at her as if she had gone mad. She covered her mouth but ended up snorting instead.

  “What my elegant wife would say if she stopped cackling is, give anyone but a minute, and they’d discover it’s more likely I’m her captive than the other way around. Bloodthirsty wench that she is.” Rangvald pulled Lorna in for a quick kiss.

  “Lady Lorna, it’s been years since ye’ve been in this part of the county. I dinna disagree with Tormod offering his help,” Andrew’s voice was soft, but his tone had steel.

  Lorna lo
oked at Rangvald before they both spun their horses around. “Keep up, lad,” she called over her shoulder.

  As Lorna, Rangvald, and Tormod faded into the distance with the Mackenzies following, the others looked at each other. “How much faster can we get to your home than Grímr if he sails?” Bjorn asked.

  “He must ride along, or even sail through, Loch Sìn until he gets to the Minch. Then he must sail along the coast until he enters the North Sea and can turn east. Depending on the weather, it could be an easy sail to the North Sea, or it could be rough sailing into the waves. It’s hard to tell. Ye can get every season in a day when ye’re in the Highlands,” Alex shrugged.

  “And once he’s in the North Sea, it’s much the same,” Andrew noted. “It could be calm, or he could face a headwind that pushes him back.”

  “What I need to know is if there is time to wait for the others to return, or do we ride on without them?” Bjorn pressed.

  Everyone looked at one another and settled their sights on Erik. He would now return to commanding his parents’ warriors. It would be for him to decide what Rangvald’s people did while Freya would decide for Ivar’s. Neither wanted to make the choice.

  Erik looked at Freya, and an unspoken conversation flowed between them before Erik turned back to Alex. “If we wait here for a couple hours, would it set us back too much? Would it give Grímr the advantage?”

  “Nay. He has at least a full day’s sailing ahead of him, and that’s if the water cooperates.” Alex’s expression was speculative as he looked to the northwest. “We can remain here for a few hours, let the horses and men rest. If they arenae here before midday, we ride without them. I dinna want to ride through the night, but we may have to.”

  “Thank you, Alex.” Erik’s relief was palpable. He did not like his parents being separated from the group as they searched for a handful of Norsemen leading a group of angry prisoners.

  They set up camp near a small loch close to the road. Alex and Andrew posted scouts to watch for Lorna’s and the others’ return and a watch around the camp. It was a subdued group. Riding through the night exhausted both the Highlanders and Norsemen, but none would admit it. Hunting parties brought back rabbits and squirrels while some of the others fished. The benefit to waiting was everyone had a full belly, and some even caught a couple hours of sleep.

  Tyra leaned back against Bjorn, but he was not as relaxed as his face would make one think. “What’s worrying you the most?”

  Bjorn absentmindedly ran his hand over Tyra’s back and shoulder as he stared off in space.

  “I want to know how Grímr convinced the Rosses and Munros to help him if he has no money. I want to know whether the Munros continued on with Grímr and if they would sail to our home. I want to know how he recruited Welsh archers and why he plans to go there next when it’s so far southwest. I want to know if he is going to Lairg or if we’ve made a monumental error in not continuing on. I want to know if Strian and the others will make it back here in time.”

  Tyra peered up at Bjorn as he rattled off all of her concerns. She felt calm and grounded while he held her, and she wished she offered him the same. She ran her hand over his chest, and he captured it before bringing her fingertips to his lips then returned it to his chest, some of the tension easing.

  “I want to know those same things. I want to know how our ships fare. I want to know if we will reach them before Grímr, and I want to know if we will have to prepare to sail south or if we will return home.”

  “What do you want to have happen?”

  Tyra shrugged. She knew what she wanted, but she knew saying it aloud would be selfish.

  “Ty, it’s me. Tell me,” he cajoled.

  Tyra closed her eyes and slid her hand into the neck opening of Bjorn’s shirt. His warm skin was smooth against her cold fingers. He pretended to shiver, and the vibration of his chuckle was strong and reassuring.

  “I want to go home and get married,” she admitted.

  “I do, too.”

  “But I also know that might be months from now.”

  “Are you worried things will change between us if we don’t marry soon?” Bjorn was anxious about her response. He prayed things would only get better between them.

  “No,” Tyra’s response was so even and unequivocal that Bjorn relaxed for the first time since sitting down. “I don’t know how to explain it. We have already promised to marry one another, and I know that’s as good as any vows we make before a priestess, but I want the rituals. I want to share those things with you. I want our parents’ spirits to be there with us as we exchange rings. I don’t want to miss out on that.”

  “Would we not have our wedding whenever we return?”

  “Yes, I just--.” Tyra stopped herself before she said what was on her mind. She did not want to cause Bjorn pain by saying any more about their parents.

  “Tyra?”

  She shook her head, but Bjorn was persistent. He pressed her forward, so she sat up and looked at him.

  “I want you to find peace with your parents being gone, and I want you to know you’ll never be alone again.”

  Bjorn blinked several times before he lifted Tyra into his lap. He buried his head against her shoulder as he took several shuddering breaths before he looked up.

  “How is it you understand how I feel? That I feel that for you.”

  “I suppose because we are both orphans. We know what it is to be adrift, to watch others with their families and wish we had it, too. I want you to become my family.”

  They cupped one another’s faces as they kissed. Bjorn’s tongue swept across the seam of Tyra’s lips, and she opened to him, the recesses of her mouth like warm satin. Bjorn groaned as her breasts pressed against his chest. His hand slid down her back until he palmed her backside. The tight leather did little to disguise the firm, round buttocks. Tyra shifted to straddle his hips, both uncaring that there were others around them. Tyra tunneled her fingers into his hair as she pressed her mound against the ridge in Bjorn’s pants. Their clothes were an irritating barrier, but neither of them suggested they slip into the woods again.

  “Ahem,” Freya chortled. “If you two came up for air, you’d realize Strian and the others approach.”

  Tyra shot her friend a look of disgust. “Who came and told you? Last I saw, you were in much the same position with your husband.”

  Freya look unashamed and broke out into a wide grin. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” She spun on her heels and moved toward the road where Tyra spotted the dust cloud approaching before any of the riders.

  Bjorn and Tyra stood together as they watched a dozen riders approach with Rangvald and Lorna in the lead. Tyra craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Strian, but he was the last in line. His face was etched with a scowl unlike any Tyra had ever seen before, and he gave some of the dirtiest looks.

  “What do you suppose has Strian looking like that?” Bjorn wondered.

  “Are you serious? Look at who is riding in front of him.”

  “A woman,” Bjorn shrugged.

  “Gressa.”

  Bjorn’s look of shock might have made Tyra giggle had it been a funny situation.

  “How long has it been?”

  “At least five, ten years.”

  “Shite. No wonder he looks like someone pickled his mead.”

  “I wouldn’t bring it up, if I were you. Let him tell us what he wants.”

  “I know. He’s one to shut up when asked too many questions.”

  “Exactly. Let’s go with the others.”

  They walked over to Freya and Erik, then met the incoming riders. Lorna and Rangvald were glad to find the group waited for them. Bjorn watched Strian yank the young woman from his horse, but he noticed a flash of remorse on Strian’s face when she collapsed. Her legs gave out, and Strian pulled her against him. Bjorn watched them both flush before breaking apart. He caught himself shaking his head. His friend would not have an easy voyage with his new thrall. Strian marched over to the
others with the woman in tow. She tried to slow him by digging in her heels, but he turned and picked her up over his shoulder.

  “Plundering and pillaging again, Strain?” Freya taunted, but she snapped her mouth shut at his look of censure. He lowered the woman to her feet and spun her around.

  “Hardly.” He nudged his captive. “Speak. Tell them what you told me.”

  Her stare was mutinous, and she refused to say a word.

  “Speak, woman. I have no patience left for you. That expired long ago.”

  Her nose flared as she spat out her words. “I knew it. What will you do? Beat me get me to talk,” she sneered. “I have naught else to say.”

  Strian struggled to remain in control. “Don’t lie, Gressa. I haven’t laid a hand on you to harm you. Tempt me as you might. Tell them. If not for me, then to help them. Help Tyra and Freya. Would you see them dead?”

  Gressa’s eyes opened wide as she looked over her shoulder at the two women she had known since she was a child. They both looked different than she remembered, but she supposed she did, too. Life’s unpredictability had done that.

  “Grímr sent Highlanders to the marches. He sailed in several months ago bringing chests of jewels, cloth, and gold. I assumed he raided or pirated the chest. The Highlanders paid a handsome price to the prince, so the prince sent a score of us north. They included me because of my past and knowledge of the language. I didn’t have any choice, but I was careful to listen when Ivar’s name came up more than once.” She sent a pointed look at Strian. “I wondered what brought Ivar and Grímr together. I knew all of you would return.”

  “You knew,” Strian growled, and Gressa forced herself not to step back when hurt flashed in Strian’s eyes.

  “Yes. That’s why I didn’t fight coming.”

  “So, you could help murder us, one by one?” Freya pushed her way forward. “You have changed. Not for the better. You have no honor left if you could kill us.”

  Freya pushed back through the group and stalked off. Erik looked around, then followed Freya. Gressa continued as if Freya never spoke, but a tightness brought lines around her eyes and between her brows.