Taming His Viking Woman

by Michelle Styles

  ‘I wanted to make sure you knew what you might be getting,’ he said.

  Sayrid pressed her lips together. Arrogant in the extreme. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t do the same.’

  His eyes roamed over her figure. ‘I look forward to having the pleasure of unwrapping you later.’

  She deepened her scowl and banished the bubbly feeling to a far corner of her brain. ‘That depends on the outcome of this bout.’

  ‘That outcome is not in doubt.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘But if I should lose, I shall be at your service…one year. Think about that. I will be bound to do whatever service you require without question or hesitation for an entire year.’

  Her face flamed like it was on fire. He was talking about their joining, not about who would win this contest. She concentrated on the ground and attempted to restore some measure of calm. She had never before had any trouble focusing on the match, but now she was intensely aware of the man. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘You made me a promise the other night. I intend to see it is fulfilled.’

  ‘What promise?’ She made the mistake of glancing at his face and was catapulted headlong into the fierceness of his gaze.

  Her entire body tingled, but then she recalled his reputation with women and thought of the number of women he must have bedded. The man knew what he was doing.

  Angrily, she made a swipe with her sword. ‘Stop trying to twist things to your advantage.’

  His smile widened.

  ‘My mistake. Your body must have made the promise without informing your head.’ He leant towards her and lowered his voice. ‘We will be good together, Sayrid. Think about that as we fight.’

  Sayrid glowered at him. ‘I know your game, Hrolf, and choose not to play it. Think about that as we fight. I am indifferent to you.’

  Her heart beat far too fast, giving lie to her words. But he couldn’t have guessed. Sayrid tightened her grip on her sword. He must never know of her attraction.

  ‘You know nothing about me.’ He gave a mock blow to his chest. ‘I’ll never break your heart, fair lady.’

  ‘That’s because my heart will never be yours to break. I intend on teaching you a lesson. Shall we get on with it?’ She shrugged. ‘It will be a shame to mark your skin, but then maybe the next time you will not treat a woman opponent with such contempt.’

  He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought his shirt. ‘The maiden has accused me of distracting her. And here I thought you and your unbreakable heart impervious to my charms!’

  Sayrid saluted him with her sword. ‘Your future ladies will thank me one day.’

  ‘What makes you think I want any other woman?’

  He returned the salute as the noise from the crowd grew louder. Sayrid took three breaths and focused on his sword. The first few clashes would be to assess his strength and identify his weakness. Warriors always had a weakness. Once she found his, she could exploit it. His arrogance would assist her, but she’d need something more to make him overreach. She could almost taste the power she’d command once she’d won.

  Their swords clashed as he blocked her move and countered with a move that she easily blocked.

  ‘You’re not trying very hard.’

  A wide smile split his face. ‘I’ve no wish to mark your skin, Valkyrie.’

  ‘That is my concern.’

  ‘Mine as well. I need to look after my bed partner-to-be.’

  Sayrid ground her teeth. She didn’t know which was worse—talking about marring her skin as if that mattered or proclaiming it was a foregone conclusion that they’d share a bed whatever the outcome.

  She redoubled her efforts to focus and the battle began in earnest. Sword meeting shield and sword meeting sword. Each time she tried something, he had a counter for it.

  She had to admit that Hrolf was highly skilled, a far better opponent than she had faced before. His strength matched his agility. This was no drunken sot trying his luck or an ageing farmer, but a seasoned warrior.

  Rivulets of sweat snaked down her face, nearly blinding her. With an impatient arm, she wiped them away. Surely he would make a mistake soon. Her light shield grew heavier and it took more effort to move it into place. But she forced her body to continue and to wait. Round and round the ring they went. One probing and then the other. Always searching for an opening, but not finding one. The cries of the crowd grew louder.

  Despite her screaming back muscles she tried for a downward stroke. He blocked it with ease, but his eyes took on a triumphal gleam.

  Sayrid swallowed hard. She summoned all her remaining energy. One more burst and she knew she’d break him.

  He went for a deceptively simple move, but Sayrid was ready with the counter-attack and managed to land a blow on his arm. She pressed her advantage and forced him on the back foot. He stumbled and fell. His sword landed a few inches from him.

  A wild exhilaration went through her. She had done it! He had made the first mistake. She was going to win. After this, no one would doubt her prowess. She’d be safe and her dreams would all come true. Her family would be provided for and she could stop waking up at night with worry clawing at her gut.

  His lips turned up. ‘Definitely a Valkyrie. The last move proved it. You do Odin proud.’

  ‘Will you yield?’ she asked, standing over him with her sword point towards his neck. ‘You have lost your sword. I could drive my sword into your throat. Yield, Hrolf Sea-Rider, and I may spare your life.’

  ‘Overconfidence will be your downfall, Valkyrie.’

  His foot snaked out and caught her calf, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her cheek bumped against a rock and sent a pain ricocheting through her. The air went from her lungs with the unexpectedness of it. One instant she was on her feet and the next, staring up at the sky. Her shield slipped from her grasp.

  He made a downward stroke which she raised her sword to block. To her horror, she mistimed the move and her sword arched through the air, landing quivering in the dirt several feet from her.

  ‘Will you yield, Valkyrie?’ he asked with his sword a breath away from her neck. ‘Will you concede to a man?’

  Sayrid collapsed back against the ground, utterly spent. Above her the clouds skittered across the sky and all about her was silence from the stunned crowd.

  ‘I can’t rise without aid,’ she whispered into the quiet.

  Summoning the remaining bits of his energy, Hrolf reached down with his hand and clasped hers. He pulled her to standing. Sayrid, with rivulets of sweat running down her face and her hair plastered to her skull, looked every bit as exhausted as he felt. But she was his now.

  ‘It is over,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost your sword. Would you lose your life as well?’

  A solitary unheeded tear hovered in the corner of her eye. ‘Yes, it is over.’

  Hrolf glanced towards where Kettil stood, stony-faced. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the outcome.

  ‘Sayrid Avildottar conceded!’ He raised their clasped hands. ‘I claim victory. I claim Sayrid Avildottar and her lands.’

  The entire throng hushed.

  ‘What does the Shield Maiden say?’ someone called out. ‘Has she given way?’

  ‘Go on,’ he commanded. ‘Say it so they can hear.’

  ‘Hrolf is correct. He has won.’ Sayrid’s shoulders slumped as she bowed her head. ‘I’ll honour my oath. My lands will be his.’

  ‘I claim everything, including your body!’

  At his words, the crowd burst into loud laughter and cheers. Hrolf’s shoulders relaxed, but he kept hold of Sayrid’s wrist. Her expression of absolute horror intensified.

  In all his years of fighting, he had never met a better opponent and he had begun to despair of winning, something he’d never experienced before.

  Sayrid’s instant of hesitation had happened just after he’d sent a prayer towards any god who might be listening. Obviously Freya, the goddess of love and marriage, had been following the
proceedings because he suddenly had known what to do and his strength had returned. He would honour the goddess today—by claiming Sayrid as his bride.

  ‘Marriage is not a death sentence,’ he murmured, hating the bruised patch just under her eye. He had tried to be careful, but obviously there had been moments when his fighting instinct had taken over.

  Silently he vowed that it would never happen again. He would ensure that his wife was properly looked after, not left to fend for herself in a hostile world. He would make it right. His wife should be dressed in furs and silks, not battling for her life.

  ‘Set the date,’ she growled, twisting slightly to free herself from his grasp.

  Hrolf concentrated and clung on to his prize—half to keep her next to him and half because if he let go, he knew he’d collapse in a heap of spent muscle.

  ‘When would you have this marriage of ours?’ she ground out. ‘A month? Two months? How long will you give me to prepare?’

  A fury swept over him. Like most women, she delighted in treachery and deception. She might have escaped him the other night by diving into the river and swimming, but he knew what she was capable of now. And he wasn’t minded to chase halfway around the world after her.

  This marriage would take place now while he could bind the loyalty of those she commanded to him. She would learn her place in his household. He had no need of women warriors—what he required was a wife.

  ‘The cooks had best get busy. Another feast is required.’ He gave a triumphant smile which took in all the onlookers. ‘The marriage takes place today!’

  The crowd broke out in loud cheers.

  All colour drained from her face. ‘Today? Impossible. A wedding requires arrangements. The proper alignment of the stars, the reading of portents and your father’s sword…’

  He slowly lowered their arms before letting her go. She staggered back a step. ‘Nothing is impossible to a determined man. And my determination has never been in doubt.’

  ‘Why the speed?’ She licked her lips and her eyes darted about the arena. She gave every impression of a cornered animal searching for the nearest bolthole.

  ‘I would not put it past you to decide to go on a long voyage which you claim is vital for everyone in the village or, worse, disappear into the world, dressed as a man.’ He forced his mouth to smile as he cupped her cheek.

  Her entire being bristled with anger and she turned her face away. ‘Having just returned from a long voyage, I wanted some months at home.’

  ‘These words are supposed to act as your guarantee?’ He inclined his head. ‘Forgive me if I require more.’

  ‘Snaking out your foot to trip me was unworthy.’ Her mouth turned mulish, but he could see the latent hint of passion in it.

  ‘There was nothing in the rules, my lady, against tripping. I saw an opportunity and took it.’

  ‘The only reason you challenged me was to prove a point. You are the better warrior than I am. Well, you’ve proved that. You can have the land you require.’

  Hrolf watched her mouth. The exertion of the fight had turned it strawberry ripe and her tunic now clung to her body. His fingers itched to unwrap her. But he refused to give any woman power over him. He’d seen what gibbering wrecks men could become. When he discovered his father’s frozen body on his mother’s grave, Hrolf had vowed never to allow a woman to touch his heart, a sentiment that his uncle had encouraged.

  ‘Why do you attempt to put words in my mouth?’ he asked in a cold tone. ‘I know what we bargained for. I always claim what is mine by right and I do it in my fashion.’

  Her eyes became a blue flame and she pulled her shoulders back. ‘My honour is without question. Do not suggest I would dishonour my oaths again.’

  ‘Sayrid, I marry a woman, not a man. Find a dress.’

  Sayrid stared at him uncomprehending. ‘A dress?’

  ‘You do own a dress…don’t you?’

  Sayrid released a breath and offered a prayer up to all goddesses in the Aesir and Vanir. At last, a way to postpone the evil day with dignity. Hrolf wanted to marry a properly dressed bride. His request made sense given the finery he wore. She could use it, buy time and find a solution to the mess. Somehow she’d discover what he truly wanted before she started believing that he wanted her. It wasn’t over until the ceremony was done.

  ‘My best dress is at home. What a pity. We will have to name another day when I can be attired in the sort of clothes fit for a sea king’s bride.’

  ‘Borrow one.’ A glint showed in his eye as he raked her form. ‘Or come naked. But I marry a woman. Today.’

  Renewed anger flooded through her. Why in the name of Freya did he want to marry her? And why did it have to be today?

  ‘Every other woman is smaller than me by at least a full head.’

  His smile became positively merciless. ‘That is not my problem. You do as I command.’

  She stood toe to toe with him. ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I will have you and anyone who helps declared outlaw and all their lands forfeit as well as yours.’ He bowed low. ‘Your choice, Sayrid Avildottar. Time to decide. Do you actually care about your family and the people who work the land? Or do you just care about yourself?’

  Chapter Four

  ‘How could he do this? Wasn’t it enough to win and take my land? Why does he have to humiliate me further?’

  Sayrid stomped around the narrow hut where she had retired after Hrolf had delivered his ultimatum. Regin had attempted to console her, telling her to look for the positives but she had growled at him. She wanted to wallow, instead of being falsely cheerful or coming up with impossible plans of escape. Regin beat a hasty retreat.

  ‘Come dressed as a woman or naked,’ she said, swinging her arms back and forth. ‘Marry today or forfeit everything you hold most dear in this life. He is a sea king through and through, completely full of treachery.’

  ‘Can you blame him?’ her sister asked with a laugh. ‘You’ve escaped from tighter situations before. Or were they simply stories for after supper?’

  ‘It wasn’t an empty threat, Auda. Hrolf Eymundsson would have taken great pleasure in stripping all my clothing from me in front of everyone.’

  ‘Then your clothing had better be disposed of, in case you get ideas,’ Blodvin said.

  ‘And what do you propose I wear? This?’ Sayrid gestured to the apron dress she now wore. Blodvin’s dress would have been too small on a normal-sized woman but on Sayrid it barely reached her calves.

  ‘It is one of my favourites,’ Blodvin protested.

  ‘It is just as well Blodvin brought another dress in case her first choice clashed with the tapestry at the feast,’ Auda said in placating tone.

  ‘I can barely breathe, even with the bodice being let out. And yellow makes me look sallow. My stepmother always said that and it is the absolute truth.’

  ‘Hold still, sister, while we fix your hair. You might not have a crown, but Blodvin found some flowers.’ Auda held up a mixture of yellow and white daisies. ‘They will go well in your hair.’

  ‘Going bareheaded is as bad as going naked,’ Blodvin argued. ‘Have some pride in your appearance.’

  Sayrid clenched her fists and longed to hit something. Very hard.

  Auda’s eyes welled up. ‘Please, be good and do this for me. I have longed to see my big sister as a bride. The wedding will be wonderful and Hrolf is a very lucky man to have won you as a bride. But people will think it odd if you fail to wear a crown. The flowers are the best I can do.’

  Sayrid stared up at the ceiling. Refusing either of her siblings was impossible. She had to do this for the honour of their house. ‘Oh, very well. I don’t want you upset, but I warn you—the words “gigantic flower-topped beanpole” will not be far from people’s lips.’

  She crouched down and allowed the other two women to twine the flowers in her hair. They both exclaimed loudly how lovely she looked.

  ‘Everyone will laugh at me.’ Sayrid bit her li
p. For once in her life she wanted to look normal, instead of being the person she was—overgrown with less grace than a cow on a bad day.

  ‘No one will dare to laugh and you’re only in a bad mood because you lost,’ Auda remarked. ‘Admit it. You expected to win. You expected to grind him into the dirt and he wriggled free at the final instant.’

  Sayrid grasped her sister’s hand. ‘I tasted victory, Auda, but I lost focus for a single heartbeat and he took advantage of it.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. You always tell Regin to keep his focus until the end of the fight and he never does.’

  ‘I feel…I feel terrible. I have let you and Regin down,’ Sayrid admitted.

  Auda squeezed her hand. ‘You haven’t let anyone down. Get that idea from your head immediately. You have done so much for us. More than we ever thought possible.’

  Sayrid swallowed hard. Auda was taking this much better than she had expected. She could have been filled with great wailing and recriminations. They at least would have given her something to fight against.

  ‘I won’t be a shield maiden any more,’ she whispered into the silence.

  ‘I can’t see why you wanted to be a warrior in the first place.’ Blodvin gave a distinct sniff. ‘All the blood and gore of the battlefield. How could anyone find it attractive? And sailing one of those ships? My stomach is quite unsettled thinking about it.’

  ‘I, for one, am very proud of my sister’s accomplishments,’ Auda said. ‘The marriage means I will be able to see you more often. I miss you dreadfully when you are away on your voyages, Say. The hall never feels right without you and your sword arm there to protect me. You will still do that?’

  ‘Of course.’ Sayrid pressed her lips together and held back the scream. Neither Auda nor Blodvin understood. She liked being a shield maiden. She enjoyed the tactics and the thrill of competing to get the best price for her goods. While battlefields were scary, they were also intensely exciting and she always felt alive on the sea, battling the wind and the currents.

  She was no good at woman’s work. She had found her place in the world: being a shield maiden. But with one slight hesitation, all that was gone. She didn’t even have time to mourn her lost life. She had to be married by sundown or see everything she had worked and bled for destroyed. Somehow she was going to carve a bit of her old life back. She wasn’t going to become like Blodvin, content with sewing and batting her eyelashes, she silently promised.