The Fortress of Time

by Stone, Mariah

  Contents

  Title

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  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

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  Copyright

  About Mariah

  The Fortress of Time

  A Time Travel romance

  Called by a Viking

  Book 1

  Mariah Stone

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  Upcoming books in the series:

  One night with a Jarl

  The Jewel of Time

  The Surf of Time

  The Marriage of Time

  The Tree of Time

  PROLOGUE

  Vörnen, Norway, 870 AD

  Sigurd’s heart sank as nine dragon ships appeared from behind a mountain by the fjord. He stood alongside his father, Jarl Randver, on the beach by their village. Ten dozen of their best warriors waited for the enemy right by their side, axes, shields, swords, and bows ready for battle.

  The red and blue of the ships’ sails screamed the arrival of the enemy, Jarl Fuldarr. It meant that Sigurd’s sister, Vigdis, had failed in her mission to negotiate peace and that she was either dead or captured as a hostage, and probably somewhere on board one of those ships.

  Sigurd’s heart turned into ice at the thought.

  It also meant that his men could not send a shower of arrows down on the ships because they were afraid to hurt her.

  They waited to find out what Fuldarr had to say.

  “It’s my fault,” Sigurd said to his father, who gripped his great long ax so hard his knuckles whitened. “I should not have sent her, I should have gone myself.”

  “It is your fault, Son. How many times did I tell you, you cannot trust important things to women.” His father gestured at the ships with his ax. “Look at the consequences.”

  “She begged me to give her responsibility. And she always gets what she wants.”

  Randver grunted as a shadow of pain passed across his face. He had been sick for a year now, an unknown illness eating him from the inside, pain stealing his sleep and draining his body. Sigurd had been filling his father’s role of jarl. He had started building a fortress around the village in anticipation of attacks. The jarldom grew weak; many strong warriors left them because Sigurd could not go raiding. Sigurd had needed to negotiate peace with Fuldarr as they were in no position to withstand such attacks. Sending Vigdis had sounded like a good idea. Yes, she was a woman, but she was a jarl’s daughter and proud to have been entrusted with a man’s task.

  “I should have been stricter with her,” Randver said. “She wouldn’t have assumed that the world owes her everything. She should have just fulfilled her duties like her mother and like every woman. You should not have trusted her.” He turned to Sigurd. “Never trust a woman, Son.”

  The words reminded Sigurd of his mother and made his muscles ache like the chills before a fever.

  What had happened to Vigdis was his fault. Guilt hung in his chest like a rock. He hoped that he had not sent his sister to her death. If Fuldarr had touched a hair on her head, Sigurd would cut out his heart and feed it to pigs.

  The ships arrived. Dozens of Fuldarr’s warriors scowled at them, but no one moved. On the biggest ship, Sigurd saw Jarl Fuldarr in the richest brynja he had ever seen, his long beard braided, his dark hair combed and oiled, a sable fur cloak falling from his shoulders—it must have shielded him from cold nights on the ship.

  Fuldarr watched them without movement. Sigurd gripped the handle of his battle ax, ready to charge or build a shieldwall at his father’s command.

  A movement caught Sigurd’s eye, and a woman’s figure appeared next to Fuldarr. Sigurd blinked.

  It was Vigdis, alive and whole, her back straight, her long golden hair hidden under a silk scarf—the sign that she was married. Her face was cold like a queen’s. She wore the most beautiful dress he had ever seen, the color of a warm summer’s sunset, and jewelry of such beauty he had only seen once in a raid on Frankia hung from her neck. A sable fur trim cuddled her throat. It made her look beautiful, just like their mother. The pain of loss hacked at Sigurd’s heart at the memory of the first woman who had brought betrayal to their family. His father was right, as usual.

  “Are you unharmed, Vigdis?” Randver’s voice cut through the air.

  Her face lost its proud expression for a moment, and guilt flickered across it.

  “I am all right, Father.”

  “Then, I see, your negotiations went well,” Randver said. “I had never wanted you to marry our enemy.”

  “Fuldarr offered me something you would never do.” She raised her chin. “Equal word at his long table. Forever. He’s treating me like a queen. Nothing like you treated my mother. Or me.”

  Randver spat on the pebble beach without breaking eye contact with Fuldarr. “What did you come for, Fuldarr? We are family now, aren’t we?”

  Silence fell on the beach. Randver whispered under his breath so that only Sigurd would hear. “She told him about all our defenses. That is why he married her. You know what to do. Go.”

  “I came to claim what’s mine!” Fuldarr roared.

  Sigurd hissed, “I am not leaving you here. There are twice as many of them.”

  Randver chuckled, and his bright-blue eyes shone for the first time in a long time. “Son, I will be grateful for this death. A weapon will take my life and not the sickness that has gripped me by the balls like a little boy. Odin will welcome me today in Valhöll, and I will drink mead with him and my father. I will wait for you there when your time comes. Don’t hurry though.”

  He gripped Sigurd’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Now, go. Protect the village.”

  Sigurd’s throat clenched. His sister’s betrayal, the enemy at their feet, his father’s sure death, made bile rise in his throat. The last thing he wanted was to leave his father and his best warriors in the first row of defenses, but he knew Randver was right. The village would need Sigurd to lead their warriors when the first line fell.

  “I’ll see you in Valhöll, Father.” Sigurd squeezed his father’s mighty shoulder, and they nodded to each other, their eyes locking for the last time.

  He left the row of warriors as they began moving under his father’s last cry: “Shieldwall!”.

  He couldn’t believe his sister had betrayed him after the way he’d protected her all her life. His father’s words carved traces on his heart: Never trust a woman, Son.

  As he ran towards the village, arrows began hitting the ground around him like raindrops. Sigurd touched the Thor’s hammer pendant that always brought him luck, and whispered, “I won’t, Father, I promise.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York City, 2018

  Donna Cox had to win the case, or four clients would not be able to buy bread next month. They waited for the hearing in a court waiting room. Marta and Helena sat to her right, ripe like watermelons. To Donna’s left, Teresa and Gloria, both single mothers, whispered in Spanish while rocking two
strollers that looked like their best days were long behind.

  All four women had been cleaners in a big company, Cinderellas Inc. Their supervisor had fired them as soon as he’d found out they were pregnant. Donna was glad they were brave enough to sue. Most women in their situation did not dare.

  Donna’s phone rang, and the word “Mom” lit up the screen. Mother was Donna’s partner in their two-woman law firm in Brooklyn. Donna held up her index finger to her clients to signal that she’d be right back and went out into the hall.

  “Mom? I can’t talk. I’m about to go in for the hearing.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. There’s been a change, and I’ll need you to keep your cool.”

  “A change?”

  “Yes. I found out a minute ago. Ferguson and Partners replaced Virginia with—darn it—with Daniel Gleason.”

  Heat spread over Donna’s cheeks. Daniel Gleason represented everything she passionately despised in the world and the reason she specialized in discrimination lawsuits.

  New York swarmed with Daniel Gleasons, and they enjoyed way too much power over women. They ran law firms, hedge funds, and insurance companies. Sometimes, they taught at schools, drove cabs, and mixed cocktails. And one of them had broken Donna’s heart.

  Daniel looked like a Norse god in a suit. A typical alpha male, he thought only pretty women should be secretaries and that all female CEOs and politicians were lesbians. Three years ago, he had insisted that Donna should stop working, find a rich husband, and give birth to five sons. Back then she had secretly hoped he wanted to be that husband. Despite herself, she had considered following his suggestion because she was in love.

  Thank heavens she hadn’t. Not that he’d ever proposed. In retrospect, she was glad he’d stopped sleeping with her one day. He’d taught her a lesson.

  The lesson she’d thought was part of her DNA, something her single mother had fed her every day with breakfast. To never—ever—fall in love with a mouthwatering hunk with a big ego and a sexy smile.

  That was why she only dated geeks—often writers or web designers. Guys who respected women. So what if the sex was as stale as day-old champagne. They were smart and funny. They begged her for another date, not the other way around.

  “Donna? Are you there?”

  Donna blinked, her hand shook. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Honey. Listen to me. This is the most important lawsuit of your career. Our career. This could be huge for our firm. Put aside your anger. Are you sure you can manage?”

  Donna let out a long breath. It didn’t help. “I bet this is precisely why they put him on the case.”

  Mom sighed. “They know the type of men we fight against. Still. You can do it.”

  “All right. I’m going back in.”

  “Good luck.”

  Donna hung up and shook her hands to relieve the pressure. When she went back into the waiting room, an older woman was in her seat. She looked like a universal grandma in small, round spectacles. She knit a wide scarf with a pattern of interwoven tree branches—it reminded Donna of Celtic or Viking art. A golden spindle lay on her lap. Donna did not have time to think about how peculiar she was, because right next to the woman, on Marta’s seat, was Daniel.

  Donna froze as if she’d hit a glass wall. She had not seen him for three years, and he looked even yummier—and more arrogant—than before. Tall, broad-shouldered, and perfectly built, he sat with his long legs stretched out and ankles crossed. He watched her with a patronizing smirk as if she was a cute little kitten about to fight a bull.

  Donna’s cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of the unresolved past, and hate burned her like acid. He was using her past feelings against her by being here.

  She frowned. Something was wrong in this picture.

  Her eight-month pregnant client was standing, rubbing her lower back, leaning against the wall and grimacing in pain, while this son of a butterfly sat on her chair as if he were waiting for a massage in a Turkish sauna.

  No. This had not just happened! Fury lit her blood on fire. Donna marched towards them, her heels clacking murder against the marble floor of the courthouse.

  “What do you think you are doing, Daniel? You self-centered orangutan! Did you take a pregnant woman’s seat? Did you tell her to go back to Mexico? Do you realize we can sue you personally for this? We have witnesses.” She pointed at the old lady.

  Daniel’s face lost all color, and the smirk dropped down his face like a wet towel.

  He jumped to his feet. “Donna— No, I’d never— I didn’t—”

  This was new. She had never seen him stutter like this. Maybe she should throw accusations at him more often.

  Marta glanced sheepishly at her. “Donna, as much as I enjoy the show, Mr. Gleason did not steal my seat. My lower back is killing me. I needed to walk.”

  Mortification struck Donna like a wet snowball. Daniel crossed his arms over his chest, the arrogant smirk lighting up his face again.

  “Who will sue now, Donna? But, I feel generous. I’m willing to forget your insults if I can buy you a drink after I win today. Would be great to catch up.”

  Donna took a deep breath. She realized Daniel had gotten what he’d come for. He shook her off balance, made her emotional, and showed her who was in control.

  No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She was a great lawyer. A Harvard graduate. She needed to show him his place. If only she could find the confidence. Everyone was looking at Donna—even the old lady, a sly little smile spreading her lips.

  “You know what, Daniel. I will never let you win. You can shove your drink up your nose.”

  She knew she sounded ridiculous, but anger and embarrassment choked her throat. Why could she not do trash talk?

  Donna turned her back to Daniel and, pretending to look through the lawsuit documents, went out of the waiting room into the hall like a high school girl. Thankfully, the hallway was empty, so she could take a breath for a moment.

  “Excuse me—Donna, is it?”

  Donna turned around, her cheeks still on fire. The old lady with the knitting stood behind her.

  “Yes?” Donna took a step towards her.

  The woman studied her with the curiosity of a scientist. She had an accent Donna couldn’t place. “I could not help but overhear. It seems you have an issue with strong men.”

  Donna frowned. “I do not have an issue with strong men!”

  “Oh, you do, dear. I need you somewhere. No, wrong. There is a man who needs you.”

  “Needs me? As a lawyer? I mostly represent women against men, so—”

  The lady smiled. “Exactly. Could you hold this for me please?”

  She held out the spindle, which Donna now noticed was carved tree branches, snakes, and leaves, knotted together in an unending pattern. Donna wondered distantly, who would use a spindle nowadays? Her palm closed around it.

  The metal burned her fingertips like a hot cup of tea after a cold day, smooth and sharp. The waiting room disappeared. It was as if something sucked Donna’s blood out of her body, a thousand of axes cut her flesh, and a furnace melted her bones. She screamed in pain but only heard the chanting of a man, and she spun and spun like the golden spindle.

  And then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Vörnen, Norway, 871 AD

  The muscles of Sigurd’s back and arms screamed. His body strained, his fists wrapped around a rope, levering a stake that would become part of the fortress. Made from a giant ancient pine, it was twice as tall as Sigurd. The bottom was planted in a deep ditch.

  Sigurd had only one helper—Floki—who was pushing the stake from the other side so that it would stand vertically. They needed at least one more man behind Sigurd to haul the rope and one more to help Floki.

  They were building the palisade wall under a massive stone arch that the gods must have carved when they were creating the world. It looked like rocks of different sizes had been stuck together by an invisible force i
n a rough line between the granite walls of the mountain, forming a natural gate over the dirt path that led to the village.

  The palisade wall beneath the arch would protect the village as part of the fortification system from the west. From the north, the village was shielded by the mountains, but it was vulnerable to overland attacks from the east. The southern side needed the most defense, as it bordered the beach where any raiders coming by sea would arrive.

  The mud sucked at Sigurd’s shoes, making it hard to get a foothold. So far, the stake was winning.

  “Hold!” yelled Floki, his face red, the veins on his neck bulging.

  It had been hard labor to build the fortress. Last year’s late-summer battle against Fuldarr had taken half of the male population. Sigurd hoped that his father feasted with Odin in Valhöll, for he had fallen in the battle like a hero, taking many enemies with him. Thankfully, Sigurd had won, his second line of defenses tipping the balance to their side. Fuldarr had retreated with only a third of his ships—and with Vigdis.

  Fuldarr would not recover soon from such defeat, but neither would Vörnen. The battle, which had lasted many hours, had left them an easy target for raiders. It had been the end of raiding season, thank the gods, so no one had attacked them since. Now it was June, and most neighbors were busy planting this year’s vegetables, rye, and barley—too early for raiders yet. They had to finish the fortress as soon as possible, and most certainly before the end of summer, or they’d be an easy target for common raiders. Of even greater concern was next year, by which time Fuldarr would have most likely gathered new troops.

  The rope burned Sigurd’s hand and creaked softly. He had to pull it up now, or the stake would fall on Floki. If only Sigurd had more men.

  He filled his lungs with air and roared “Noooow!” pulling the rope towards him, hoping that Floki would push at the same time.