Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Tales of fierce raiders who came by sea.

  Blond, bearded warriors who attacked with speed and daring, pillaging towns large and small. Ransacking churches. Burning homes. By the thousands, they had swept across the continent. They had even conquered Paris by sailing up the Seine.

  In their dragon-headed longships.

  An image of the dragon-headed posts on Hauk’s bed seared Avril’s memory. All at once the forest and night sky whirled in her vision. The words the elder was speaking struck her like icy rain. Little wonder she had not recognized their strange language.

  The tongue they were speaking was Norse. Old Norse. This band must have been hiding here for centuries. Since the time when their kind had been driven from the continent. An uncharted island would make the perfect place of concealment for a hated, hunted people. They built their longhouses in the old way. Wore the sort of clothing favored by their ancestors. Worshipped the old gods.

  And lived as pirates of the seas, raiding along the coasts.

  Stealing women to warm their beds.

  “By sweet, Holy Mary. You are Vikings,” she choked out, trying to wrest her arm from Valbrand’s grasp. “You are Vikings!”

  “You have discovered our secret,” Hauk said in a hushed whisper.

  He tried to sound convincing.

  “Did you think I would not?” The surprisingly strong little demoiselle tried unsuccessfully to wrench free of his grasp. “I will not be made some kind of bond slave to warm your bed, Norseman—”

  “Indeed you will not,” he agreed readily. “That is not our purpose here.” He wondered again whether he should have taken the time to explain the truth earlier, regardless of the fact that they were late. But she had been convinced her stay on Asgard would be short. Telling her she would spend the rest of her life here—as his bride—would have made her utterly impossible to manage.

  At the moment, all he wanted was for her to be silent. They stood last in line. Once the ceremony was finished, he could scoop her up and make a swift retreat before she caused too much trouble.

  She continued to struggle, cursing him. His uncle—Erik Valbrand, highest of all the eldrer—shot him a disapproving look from where he stood addressing young Svein and his Moorish captive.

  Hauk tugged Avril closer, pressing his lips to her ear. “Mayhap I should have gagged and blindfolded you as well as tying your hands. I will remedy the oversight at once, if you wish.”

  He had no patience left to deal with the demoiselle’s unruly temper. Not after the day he had endured. But the threat and a slight shifting of his grip on her arm were sufficient to quiet her for the moment—though she looked furious enough to murder him and every man here, even unarmed and with her hands tied.

  By great Thor’s bearded goats, he thought with a rueful glance up at the night sky, what had he done to merit such a female in his life? Never had he met a woman so headstrong and spirited and reckless... and bewitching.

  Whoever had named her had chosen well. Avril. French for April. Springtime. She was every bit as fair and tempestuous as that most unpredictable of all seasons.

  Unfortunately for him, she was also intelligent. It usually took newly arrived captives days or even weeks to guess that their abductors were Norsemen. Avril had unraveled the mystery in less than two hours.

  Odin help him if she proved equally quick at discovering the true nature of Asgard Island and its people. If he thought she was difficult to control now, he did not wish to imagine...

  His uncle’s deep growl of a voice reclaimed his attention. The elders and their translator had finished their explanations to the Moorish girl.

  Svein took his bride’s hand while Erik intoned the traditional closing words of the ritual.

  “Svein, you have risked all to bring this woman to Asgard, and we now recognize her as yours. On your oath of honor, do you accept her life and her safety as your responsibility? Will you see to her needs and her happiness, and protect and care for her all the days of her life?”

  “Ja,” the young groom replied solemnly. “Jeg gjor. I will.”

  The second elder, Storr, opened the ancient horde that he cradled in his hands, reaching inside to withdraw a silver brooch encrusted with pearls. He lifted it toward the night sky and then toward the waterfall. As it glittered in the moonlight, it drew soft sounds of wonder from a few of the women—those who were not still crying, or cursing like the unruly Italian.

  After accepting the brooch, Svein pinned it to his bride’s gown, his movements gentle, almost tentative, as if he feared that his delicate, fawn-eyed beauty might break. “Let it be known to all that this is Fadilah,” he announced, smiling at her, “wife of Svein.”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. Erik and Storr moved on to the second man in line, who eagerly stepped forward to take his vows.

  “What is happening?” Avril asked in an impatient whisper, watching as the ritual was repeated, clearly not understanding a word of what was being said. “What sort of ceremony is this? I do not—”

  “Silence.”

  His tone was enough to make her bite her lip and hold back whatever reply she wanted to make. She returned her attention to the ritual, brow furrowed.

  Hauk only wished he did not understand what was happening.

  He glanced away into the darkness, wishing he could escape the sound of his uncle’s voice. Wishing he were anywhere but here.

  Here in this sacred grove that he hated so much.

  His every nerve felt raw. And he knew that the uncommon heat smoldering between him and the lady at his side was only partly to blame. By all the earth goddesses, she seemed to burn his very fingers, even through the fabric of her sleeve.

  If only he had been able to steal a few hours’ sleep, this place and this woman and this ceremony would not affect him so strongly. He was certain of it. But he had rested only fitfully during the voyage home and not at all since depositing Avril in his bed this morn. While she had dozed peacefully within the walls of his vaningshus, and the other raiders slept after their long absence from Asgard, he had gone to face his uncle. To report the events of the journey. And the loss of two men.

  Two men who had been under his command. Under his protection. The eager would-be warriors had known the risks when they left Asgard, but their safety had been entrusted to him.

  As his uncle had been swift to point out.

  Erik Valbrand had ordered him to arrange their funeral, since few on Asgard were familiar with the ancient rites anymore. Hauk had spent the day preparing the bodies, with their families’ help, then set them out to sea after nightfall, in the very longship that had carried them to their fate, set ablaze.

  He had had no time to mourn—and less than an hour to gather necessities for this bride he did not want, return to his vaningshus and collect her without getting a blade in his gullet, and bring her here to the althing.

  Hauk stared up at the towering wall of stone before him. He had not attended an althing, had not even set foot in this part of the forest, in years. Everyone believed his absence was due to his well-known opinion that this custom, like so many others, should be changed. That it was a waste of breath to gather here at midnight on the night of the raiders’ return, offering toasts to the gods and listening to the elders’ endless speeches about the old ways and ancestral traditions.

  No one knew the true reason he stayed away.

  He resisted the tightening in his throat, the ache that filled his chest. But as he listened to the men in line taking their vows, one after another, he felt something inside him tearing open. Felt the memories rising from the deep, black place inside where he kept them locked away.

  Karolina.

  The thought of her name made the feelings spill through him.

  How excited he had been, standing here beside his first bride. How proud and pleased with himself—just as young Svein and the others were now. Grinning like a witless fool, as eager as a stag in rut.

  Utterly unaware of how soon i
t would all end.

  He swallowed hard as the memories flashed across his mind, each one sweeter than honey and more bitter than the last dregs of spoiled wine. The gentleness of her voice. Her silhouette at the window in the mornings, her every movement so serene as she combed her long blond hair. The softness of her palm pressing his hand against her belly, so he could feel their baby kick.

  The sound of her screams as she died.

  Hauk shut his eyes. She had called out his name with her last breath.

  And taken their unborn son with her.

  He clenched his jaw, trying to force the unwanted emotions away. In command of himself after a moment, he opened his eyes and glanced up at the waterfall.

  Only to be assaulted by memories of the second time he had stood here, years later. Beside Maeve.

  Maeve, whose laughter had brightened his life like the sun. She had been so entranced by the moonlit waterfall, she barely uttered a sound during the ceremony. His cheerful, Celtic lass had been happy to leave behind her life of poverty in Ireland, had quickly fallen in love with Asgard’s beauty... and with him.

  And for a time, he had known hope. Had allowed himself to believe that this time, it would be different. That she could heal the emptiness inside him, the loneliness that had been with him since he was a boy.

  He could still see the look on her face when she found the first gray hair in her ebony tresses, how she had made a jest over it...

  And when he lost her, as well, the emptiness inside him had widened and deepened, and his life was all the darker for having known even a brief touch of the sun.

  Hauk dropped his gaze to the trampled earth beneath his boots, trying to shrug off the memories as Avril had tried to shrug off his hand earlier. None of it mattered any longer. He had learned his lesson: ’Twas better to be alone than to be left alone.

  Better not to hope for a life different from the one the gods had given him.

  In the years since he had lost Maeve, he had allowed every feeling, every desire, every dream inside him to cool and harden into ice. Blessed, numbing ice. Until he wanted nothing, felt nothing. Most of the time it was not even a struggle anymore.

  Except here, in this place.

  “Ja,” another young groom was saying happily. “Jeg gjor. I will.”

  Nei, Hauk wanted to say. Nay, I will not. He had vowed never to allow another utlending woman—an outsider—into his life, his home. His heart. They were too fragile. Too rare and precious, like delicate blooms he could hold in his hands for only an instant of time. He preferred the occasional liaisons he enjoyed with Asgard women, which lasted however long he and the lady might wish.

  Women like his last mistress, Nina, who had kept him company and shared his nights and asked naught more. She had shed no tears when they parted a few months ago. Mayhap because she understood that the only thing that endured in this world was time itself.

  Understood that he needed to devote his attention to what mattered most: his duty. To protect this island and its people.

  And its secret.

  The elders came to the sixth place in line, where the red-haired English girl stood alone, and Hauk raised his head, bracing himself.

  Thorolf stepped forward from the crowd.

  He heard Avril’s small gasp of recognition and fear as Thorolf cast a cold look their way before shifting his attention to the elders.

  “Mine eldrer,” he said, addressing the council in a determined, purposeful tone, “I wish to claim this female, taken by Bjarn. She will replace the woman who was to have been mine.” He pointed to Keldan’s lady. “That woman was in my possession before Keldan interfered and stole her from me.”

  Exclamations of shock rippled through the crowd. Even to touch another man’s claimed female was a serious offense.

  Hauk swore under his breath, but he had been expecting this. “Nei, mine eldrer. Thorolf does not tell the full truth.”

  He was speaking out of turn, before the elders could talk to Thorolf—and his impertinence earned him an annoyed glance from his uncle.

  But Hauk would not be silenced. Not even by that look, well remembered from boyhood, from this man who had raised him.

  “It was Thorolf who first broke our laws,” he continued, directing his words to the full council. “He did not wait until the brunette was alone. He attacked a guard who was protecting her and killed him in the street. In full view of dozens of people.”

  A louder ripple of surprise and discussion went through the crowd.

  “Stille! Peace. Let there be peace,” one of the elders said calmly, quieting the throng. “Is this true, Thorolf? Did you use violence apurpose?”

  The knave shook his head, managing to look offended at the very idea. “The guard came at me with sword drawn. I merely defended myself—”

  “Nei, he attacked first, without warning,” Keldan corrected, stepping forward to join the fray. “And he only chose the lady out of spite, because he saw that Hauk and I had stopped to admire her and her friend.”

  Hauk briefly thought to protest that he had not been admiring Avril, but decided it would be better not to dispute any part of Keldan’s explanation.

  He heard knowing whispers going through the crowd behind him. All were well aware of the old animosity between himself and Thorolf. It occurred to him that he had in truth been staring at the little brunette just before Thorolf moved in to take her.

  No doubt the knave had chosen her for that reason alone.

  “Lies,” Thorolf insisted. “I obeyed our laws. I first saw the wench earlier in the day, long before Valbrand or Keldan ever noticed her. I waited until sunset, as we had all agreed, and I claimed her. I used violence only to defend myself against those who tried to stop me—”

  “You used violence because you have a taste for it,” Hauk said in disgust. “It pleases you the way drink pleases some men. You even used violence against a female—”

  This brought so many gasps and exclamations from the crowd, the noise drowned him out.

  “Stille!” another of the elders commanded. “Let there be peace!”

  “It is true,” Hauk insisted, gesturing to Avril. “When she tried to rescue her friend, Thorolf struck her so hard he broke her jaw.”

  The crowd erupted in noise again. Avril, who had been glancing worriedly from one speaker to the next, seemed to realize the conversation had taken a sudden turn in her direction.

  “What are you saying?” she demanded of Hauk with wide, frightened eyes. “What is going—”

  “It is my word or theirs.” Thorolf spoke over her. “And Keldan has just admitted that the brunette was in my hands before he interfered. I have been wronged. I ask that either my claim to this woman be recognized”—he indicated the English girl, who stood whispering prayers and trembling—”or that Keldan be required to return the female he stole from me.”

  Keldan looked thunder-struck, devastated at the possibility that his charming little brunette might be taken from him.

  Hauk quickly came to his friend’s assistance. “Mine eldrer, you have more than our word. There were two other witnesses.” He nodded to Avril and her friend. “Ask the women themselves. They cannot understand what has been said, and they have no reason to lie about Thorolf’s actions.”

  The elders gathered for a moment to discuss this suggestion among themselves. One of them who spoke French came over to stand before Keldan’s lady. Keldan immediately returned to hover possessively at her side.

  “We have need of your help, ma demoiselle,” the elder said with a bow, his voice gentle and his expression warm. “Tell me, if you would be so kind, what is your name?”

  The girl looked astonished to find herself suddenly addressed in her native tongue. She glanced over at Avril, seeking guidance.

  Avril shook her head, clearly opposed to offering help of any kind. Hauk frowned at her.

  But the brunette seemed to see no harm in revealing her name. “J-Josette.”

  “Merci, Josette. And co
uld you also tell me, when did you first see this man in Antwerp?” He pointed to Thorolf.

  She cringed away from the black-haired giant who stared at her—only to bump into Keldan. But she did not protest the protective arm Kel draped around her shoulders.

  “When... when he grabbed me.” She shuddered visibly. “At the fair.”

  “You had not seen him before that?”

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  “We would have noticed a man of his size,” Avril put in. “He does not blend easily into a crowd.”

  “Do not interrupt,” Hauk chided, though it occurred to him that he had just done the same thing, speaking out of turn to help a friend.

  “Nay, Valbrand, I would hear from her, as well,” the elder said easily. “Tell me, ma demoiselle, did Thorolf hurt you?”

  “Aye, he...” Avril paused, lifting a hand to her cheek, her gaze on Thorolf’s massive fists. “He struck me so hard, I fell to the ground. The pain was so great that I thought my jaw was—”

  “Fortunately, the injury has healed,” Hauk finished for her.

  “Merci, mes demoiselles.” Bowing to each, the elder returned to translate the women’s answers to the other thirteen, while Thorolf stood waiting impatiently.

  Avril remained very still, her fingers on her cheek. “But my jaw was broken,” she whispered. “I am sure of it. He hit me after I wounded him.” Blinking, she stared at Thorolf’s right arm. “With my knife.”

  Hauk shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of how he was going to explain that away. Thorolf was close enough that she could see clearly there was no injury to his arm.

  His skin was unmarred. There was no scar. No mark at all.

  “The wound must not have been as serious as you thought,” Hauk said casually.

  “But it was,” she insisted. “His blood was all over my gown—”

  “It was twilight.” Hauk had burned the garment this morn, hoping she would forget that particular detail of the incident. “The shadows play odd tricks at that time of day.”

  “But—”

  “Silence. The elders have reached their decision.”