Wild Viking Princess (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series)

by Anna Markland

  The storm raged on outside, the wind whistling through the wattle and daub walls. Loose timbers banged. Water dripped from gaps in the thatch. His eyes became heavy, and he dozed fitfully, exhausted by the rescue and his concern for her.

  Concern? Why should I care? She’s only a woman, a foreigner to boot.

  The dog fell asleep, sprawled at the foot of the pallet.

  ~~~

  “I’m—cold.”

  It was a mere whisper, but it woke Reider. The dog’s ears pricked up. It yawned and came slowly to its feet, looking first at its mistress, then at Reider.

  English. She had spoken in English. He and Kjartan had traded with the English. He knew something of their language.

  How to warm her? He was chilled without blankets or furs, the memory of the icy water washing over him. He made a decision, stripped off his tunic and crawled under the furs. Apart from the dog, his body provided the only warmth. He drew her back against his chest, careful to put his hand on his own thigh. He had never taken a woman against her will and would not take advantage of one in the throes of a fever. Nor did he wish to rile the dog, who seemed to sense Reider meant the girl no harm.

  He willed his arousal to abate, longing to cup her breasts and thrust inside this beautiful woman whose bottom rested on his shaft. Good thing he had not removed his leggings. The touch of her bare skin on his pik might have undone his resolve completely.

  Exhaustion released him from his torment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Father, mother, pray for me!

  Your little girl is coming to you...

  Narrow Sea...

  A Viking…at the prow of a boat…

  Beckoning… jump into the sea...

  Jump…

  A Viking…

  He will deliver me and Thor...

  Farewell, brothers... sister...

  Don’t weep for me…

  I am safe in the arms of my Viking.

  Reider understood little of the foreign ramblings of the girl as the fever tormented her sleep in the night. He thought she called to her parents, and recognized Viking and Thor, but the rest was incomprehensible.

  At dawn he smoothed her hair off her face. She was still warm, but the fever seemed to have abated and she slept peacefully. She was beautiful despite her ordeal—high cheekbones, proud nose, fine features—like a princess. He didn’t know her name, so he would call her prinsessen. Why not? He had been a prince, before Gorm’s treachery had stolen his birthright.

  He heard the sounds of the crew preparing to break their fast. Normally he would be up before them. Men respected a leader who did not stay too long abed, something he remembered his father had often told him. He was reluctant to leave the girl, though he could not say why that was. He lay on his side watching her, his arm crooked to support his head. She was a mystery, a woman who had the look of a Dane, but spoke English, who dressed like a male, but was very much a female. Why was she in the North Sea in the worst storm in living memory, with a loyal dog!

  Perhaps Kjartan was right. He should make her his thrall and she would live with him as his slave. Freyja knew he wanted her body! But this woman was no slave and he doubted she would accept such a life willingly. He had no wish to live with a woman who hated him, having narrowly escaped that fate with Margit. He did not want to be the object of this woman’s hatred.

  The quality of her clothing and the dog’s collar indicated she was from a wealthy family. Ransom was probably a better option, but then he would have to give her up. He rolled onto his back with an exasperated sigh, pressing his palms against his temples. She stirred beside him and he sat up quickly. He should put his tunic back on. She might be alarmed if—

  ~~~

  The ear-shattering shriek that pierced the air when her long lashes fluttered open brought men rushing to his aid. The dog leapt up and barked furiously, baring its teeth. Reider stumbled off the pallet and slid through the curtain, careful not to reveal her. He reassured his crew over the noise of her cries and the barking. Kjartan was calmly helping himself to smoked laks and bread, a smirk on his face.

  Hastily, Reider re-entered his alcove. His prinsessen stood in the far corner of the cubicle, back rigid, a fur clutched to her nakedness. Anger, not fear, twisted her lovely face. She would claw his eyes out if given the chance. The dog stood defiantly in defense, growling. Reider held out his hands, palms facing her, in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

  She touched her hand to the dog’s head. “Be quiet, Thor.”

  Why did she call on Thor, the god of thunder? At least her sultry voice had calmed the dog.

  She snarled at him. “Where is my dagger?”

  He shook his head and stepped away.

  She scowled at him, evidently angry he did not understand. She clenched her fist and made a thrusting movement. “Where is my dagger?”

  He pointed to the dagger at his waist.

  Her eyes blazed as she held out her hand. “Give me my dagger.”

  He shook his head, thinking he had never seen eyes the colour of a summer sky before.

  She stamped her foot, took a deep breath and pointed to the fur clutched to her breast. “Where are my clothes?”

  This he understood. He arched his brows and raised a finger, hoping she comprehended he wanted her to wait. He left the alcove to retrieve her tunic and leggings drying by the hearth, with his own clothes. He grabbed his tunic and shoved it over his head.

  A glimmer of relief showed in her eyes when he returned. She pointed to the pallet. “Put it there.”

  He tossed it down and stepped back.

  “My furs?” she demanded.

  This word he understood from his trading days. He pointed beyond the alcove.

  She glared at him, then waved a dismissive hand. “Go! I cannot dress in front of you.”

  He went to stand outside the curtain, arms folded, wondering why he allowed this woman to give him orders as if he were a thrall.

  Thirty curious faces glanced in his direction.

  “You have to tell them,” Kjartan said loudly.

  His friend was right. He nodded his permission.

  Kjartan informed the men. “The lad we saved is a woman.”

  The chewing stopped while they considered this new information. Judging by the loud laughter that followed, Reider’s plight was of great amusement.

  No doubt they think I bedded her. Perhaps she thinks the same.

  He hurried over to the trestle table, tore off a chunk of bread and loaded it with salmon. Maybe food would improve matters. His prinsessen must be hungry. He noticed the handful of other shipwreck survivors huddled together, blankets around their shoulders, fear and uncertainty written on their faces.

  Several of his crew elbowed each other knowingly, watching him hasten back to his alcove with his peace offering.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Having donned her rumpled tunic and leggings with some difficulty, Ragna threw a blanket around her shoulders and sat cross legged on the pallet. She pressed her arms into her ribs to stop the trembling that shook her, and put her hands on Thor’s head. The dog whined, nuzzling into her.

  The last thing she remembered was her leap into the sea. It seemed like a nightmare. She did not know why she had jumped, other than that the longboat was obviously the only hope for the people aboard the doomed vessel.

  She vaguely remembered the tall Viking at the prow, beckoning. Was he the man in whose bed she had awakened? Had they slept together? Had he—? She didn’t feel violated or sore and there seemed to be no blood in evidence. But the sight of his broad naked chest when she woke had sent tremors spiralling through her. She had seen male torsos while treating the wounded during Maknab’s siege of her home years ago, but this man was—massive.

  She must control her fear. He must not think her weak. He did not have the look of a cruel man. His eyes were gentle, a soft brown.

  Godemite! He must have undressed her, seen her naked! No wonder he looked at her that way.
She would have to be on her guard. If only she had her dagger. It was imperative she retrieve it. The weapon held too much significance for her family for it to be lost to a Viking barbarian. It had once saved her mother’s life. It was her duty to deliver the heirloom to Blythe, the eldest daughter.

  She heard a polite cough and assumed it was her Viking. At least he had manners enough to warn of his presence. “Enter,” she said, as confidently as she could, hoping he would not detect the tremor in her voice.

  He came into the alcove, grinning broadly, his big hands full of bread. Her belly turned over, but she put the upset down to a lack of food. The corners of her mouth edged up.

  He held out bread, then looked at the pallet, pointing to himself with his thumb, his brows arched. She edged back to the wall, pulling Thor closer. The Dane sat down cross legged facing her. For a big man he moved gracefully. But why did he not speak? She noticed a pink scar across his throat.

  He again offered bread with what looked like fish spread on top. She accepted. Their fingertips touched for an instant and a spark passed between them, causing her to glance up at him sharply.

  He laughed and his face reddened. He had noticed it too, but seemed more surprised by the sound of his own laughter! It sent a flush flooding across her chest.

  He bit into his own portion and chewed heartily, gesturing for her to do the same.

  She broke off part of the bread and fed it to Thor. The dog carried it to the corner, then gobbled it down. Ragna nibbled the food. It was delicious. Smoked fish of some sort. How curious to eat fish to break one’s fast.

  “Good,” she murmured, taking another bite.

  Thor came back for more. The man held out bread. Thor sniffed it warily, then took it from his hand. The Viking smiled broadly.

  What was the strange sensation his smile caused in her belly?

  ~~~

  As the woman ate, her hair kept falling over her face and she became impatient, pushing it back. Reider pointed to the braided leather headband he wore around his forehead, then to the chest where he kept a spare one, then at her. Warily, she watched him come to his feet. He leaned over to retrieve the headband, then moved to put it around her head. She shrank back and put up her hands in defense, dropping her food.

  He backed away, disappointed she had not allowed him to touch her beautiful hair. She was not as brave as she wanted him to believe, but he admired her courage. She was in essence a captive and captives were of necessity enslaved. That would be the fate of the other survivors, especially here where they had no thralls to serve them. Why not command her to do his bidding, to be his slave? She would have died but for him. She should be grateful.

  Instead he held out the headband. She pointed again to the pallet and he placed it there, between them. Never taking her blue eyes off him, she leaned forward to retrieve it, smoothed back her hair and fastened it around her forehead. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. She probably wondered why he did not speak. Eyeing the dagger, she pointed. “My dagger?”

  Once more he shook his head, pointing to himself.

  That made her angry. She fisted her hand and thumped her chest, her fascinating eyes unexpectedly welling tears. “No, dagger mine! My family’s.”

  The hound growled menacingly.

  Evidently this weapon was of great importance to her family. She must know he could not return a blade she might use against him. She pushed away the remaining food and turned away from him, burying her nose in the dog’s coat.

  His prinsessen had dismissed him!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sooner or later Reider would have to allow the woman out of the alcove. What would he do when he went out fishing or working on the boats, or in the forge—tie her up?

  The crew would wonder why he hid her away. He wondered too. For some reason he was reluctant to share this maiden. His pik hardened, for he suspected this intriguing woman was a virgin.

  He brought Kjartan into the alcove with him, clearing his throat as he entered. She turned cold eyes to look at him, like a queen would look at a commoner. He coughed again, glad of the long tunic he wore, and indicated his friend.

  She frowned when Kjartan held out his hand. “My name is Kjartan Eldarsen.”

  Visible relief swept over her face as she grasped his hand. “Charrtan? You speak English!”

  He chuckled, a glint in his eye. “Not well, but a few words. May I introduce my friend, Reider Torfinnsen. Reider apologizes that he has lost his voice—a wound.” He drew his finger across his throat. “Also, we thought you were a boy.”

  Confusion showed on her face when Reider took her hand and kissed it, astonishing himself. “Rider Torvinson,” she whispered.

  Kjartan shifted his weight. “We do not know your name, my lady.”

  She looked into Reider’s eyes, her gaze sending blood rushing to his already aching loins. “My name is Ragna.”

  She bent down to pat the dog. “And this is Thor.”

  Thor? His mouth fell open. She bore a Danish name! His name on her sensuous lips sounded heroic, noble. He wanted her throaty voice to repeat his name over and over. It reminded him that he was still a prince, despite Gorm’s treachery. He had allowed his step-brother’s betrayal to intimidate him. Some of his hopelessness left him. “Ragna,” he whispered hoarsely, a lump in his dry throat making his voice sound like someone else’s.

  Kjartan let out a whoop of elation. “Ja! my friend. I told you your voice would return.”

  Ragna looked nervously from one to the other, but hesitantly smiled her approval of his pronunciation. “Yes, Ragna FitzRam.”

  Reider recognized her name as a Norman patronymic. The doomed boat was probably Norman. He stared at her, afraid that if he spoke again a squeak would emerge. Finally he managed, “You bear a Danish name, Prinsessen Ragna.”

  She scowled at him and pursed her lips. “My grandmother was Danish. I was named for her.”

  Uncertain as to the reason for her sudden change of humour, he signaled Kjartan. He wanted his friend to explain that they were about to introduce her to the crew.

  She took a deep breath. “I am ready.”

  He held out his hand and was surprised at the firmness of her grip. Her heat travelled up his arm. Annoyance surged in his gut when Kjartan took her other hand, but he smiled to reassure her and opened the curtain.

  ~~~

  Ragna had not wanted to take Reider’s hand, but she felt alone in this strange place, despite Thor’s presence. The tall, blond Viking seemed friendly. His smile melted her fears. Was he trustworthy? She had awakened in his bed, but was confident he had put her there for warmth, rather than to ravish her.

  What manner of man was he? His chamber was a cubicle in a crude shed that was a far cry from the opulent English manors she had grown up in. He was a sailor, probably a fisherman, a man beneath her rank. Yet she was drawn to him. Her name had apparently been the first word he had spoken for who knows how long. Most men engendered a feeling of exasperation in her, they were so malleable. This Rider wouldn’t be as easy to cajole as most men were. Strangely, the thought excited her. Perhaps she had swallowed too much seawater.

  She stepped through the curtain, Thor on her heels. The first thing that struck her as her eyes darted cautiously around the chamber was the lack of decoration. No trophies of war hung on the bare boards; no tapestries adorned the walls; no rugs warmed the floors; no banners wafted in the warm air that rose from the crude hearth. The ill-shaven, well-muscled men who stared at her evidently shared the sleeping spaces along the outer wall. They had no privacy curtain. These were the brave souls who had risked their lives to save hers. Did they live here—together? The air was heavy with the smell of wet clothing and male bodies.

  Reider cleared his throat. “Men of Strand—”

  The men gawked, then cheered loudly. Thor barked. Ragna bent to calm him.

  Reider smiled broadly, nodding his acceptance of the good wishes. These men
obviously held him in high regard. Then he turned to her. “Men of Strand, I present to you Ragna FisRam.”

  It was close enough. She smiled tentatively. Her name seemed to surprise them. Several licked their lips. Some returned her smile, others elbowed their neighbour. She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and clutched Thor’s collar.

  Reider squeezed her hand. “You will afford our guest the respect she is due.”

  Whatever he had said surprised some of them further. She turned to Kjartan, putting her hand atop his. “Please thank these men for saving me, and my dog.”

  He translated and many smiled back. “We were glad to do our part, but it was Reider who saved you.”

  She looked at her Viking. She suddenly knew that if he had not beckoned, she would never have jumped into the sea. She had trusted him to save her and he had, at the risk of his own life. She felt a bond with this man that she had never felt with anyone outside her family. It alarmed her. She inclined her head slightly and murmured, “Thank you, Rider.”

  His face reddened and he took her hand from Kjartan’s. “Kjartan is my second in command. These men are our loyal crew.”

  Ragna looked round again and became uncomfortably aware that she was the only woman in the large chamber. She scanned the recesses. Were the women hiding there? Her gaze fell upon a man she recognized, Captain Philion, the fool who had put their lives in jeopardy. He had evidently abandoned ship after her leap of faith. Clad in a simple tunic, he ladled food into bowls from a large cauldron hung over the hearth. Scowling, he carried them to one of the trestle tables where he set them down in front of the foreigners. He cast a look of resentment at her and a shiver went up her spine. Another man, the young leader of the mercenaries she had hired, served other crew members.

  Something stuck in her throat. Sweat broke out on her brow. She suddenly felt light-headed. After cheating death, these men had been forced into servitude. Was this the fate that awaited her? Her blood turned to ice. It was more likely she would be delivered into a different kind of servitude. The smiling politeness of Rider and Chartan was meant to lull her into acceptance of her fate, a woman alone with a crew of rough men. But she would not yield. There was a reason her family called her their Wild Viking Princess.