Loving the Norseman: Book 1: Rydar & Grier (The Hansen Series - Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

Rolled up carpet?

  “And why would the carpet be rolled against the wall,” Rydar wondered aloud. Curious, he pushed the chairs aside and knelt beside the cylinder of fabric. He tugged the edge of the linen away and found—more linen. His heart began to jump against his ribs.

  Could it be?

  Rydar gripped the edge of the material and stood. He backed away slowly, unrolling the cumbersome log. There was no carpet, only yards and yards of unbleached linen.

  “Oh my God in Heaven!” He dropped the fabric and leapt to the front door. “Kristofer! Lars! Gavin!” he bellowed.

  “What’s amiss?” Gavin’s voice floated to him. All three bodies began to move in his direction.

  “Come quickly! You won’t believe it!” Rydar clapped his hands and wiggled his entire body in an impromptu dance. “Hurry!”

  The boys tilted forward in unison and began to run. When the three young men tumbled into the house, their boots thundering in the small space, Rydar turned and waved an upturned palm at the linen lump.

  “Do you know what that is?” He tried to appear calm, but his eager voice betrayed him. “Do you?”

  Gavin’s jaw dropped. “Is it? Thor’s thunder! It is!” He began to bounce.

  “What?” Lars looked to his older brother for help. Kristofer’s laugh started as a chuckle, but soon he and Gavin were jumping up and down together, whooping with joy.

  Lars turned to Rydar. Rydar’s cheeks ached with the width of his smile. He could order fittings from the smithy, and would do so today, but this was one indispensable piece of his plan that he had not yet puzzled out. And God had it wrapped up like a gift, waiting patiently for him to come find it.

  “Sir Hansen?” Lars squeaked. “Is it a sail?”

  Three male voices of varying octaves answered in a beautiful chorus, “Yes!”

  ***

  The smithy knew exactly what Rydar needed for the boat. And after Rydar’s help with the new leather gloves and apron, he was willing to do the work at a reduced price.

  “Is no’ needed,” Rydar demurred. “I hunt for money.”

  “Blethers, Hansen. After what ye did with the Mercat Fair, and how ye got all the craftsmen what they required? Ye’re a bit of a hero, ye ken?”

  “Did Rabbie no’ have boat parts made?” he asked. “He has a sail.”

  “Aye, he gave me orders. And I had much of it finished when he died.” The man paused and crossed himself. “But I melted the iron for other things, a long time past. He weren’t going to use them, aye?”

  “Aye.” Rydar nodded.

  “But ye found the sail?”

  Rydar smiled. “Aye.”

  “That’s good, then.” The man offered a hand that dwarfed Rydar’s. “See me in three day’s time. I’ll have what ye’ll be needing.”

  “Thank you.” He pumped the man’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Rydar was beyond jubilant! Riding back to the castle in the polished-copper light of evening, all of creation seemed to congratulate him. Birds sang only for him. Squirrels danced through the trees because of him. Clouds nuzzled the sun to reflect her glory for his eyes alone. He laughed aloud and slapped his thighs. This day’s events could not have gone any better!

  He considered the sail to be a God-given blessing for his voyage. If ever he doubted his path before, on this day he knew for certain that he was following the destiny intended for him. Finding the boat was one thing; finding the Norse boys was another. And if all good things came in threes—like the Father, Son and Holy Ghost—then the discovery of the linen sail completed the trilogy.

  He could not wait to tell Grier about the sail. He knew in his heart that she would understand about the trinity of events and believe the same way he did: that his journey home was God’s plan. She would share his excitement, he was certain of it, because she truly understood him and his need to return to Norway. He imagined her smile and the twinkle of her eyes. He would kiss her well in celebration.

  And she would kiss him well in return.

  Rydar kicked Salle to a brisk canter, so eager to speak with Grier that he couldn’t allow the mare to set her own pace on the road back to the keep. He had not been this optimistic in decades.

  Rydar slowed Salle to a trot to cross the wood bridge. Unusual activity around the stable drew his immediate attention and he reined the horse to a walk. Salle began to prance, straining against her bridle. Rydar dismounted and led the skittish animal toward her home, wondering what was happening. Salle whinnied.

  The answering call from the stable was loud and urgent, sounding unlike any of the animals that resided there. When Rydar reached the open door, he saw the two huge war horses tied in the stalls. Metal-edged saddles rested on trestles and a man Rydar had never seen before was cleaning them. The gray beast, a stallion, turned toward Salle and called to her again. Salle side-stepped and seemed to hide behind Rydar. She stamped her feet and bumped his back with her long bony nose.

  “Who you?” Rydar asked the stranger.

  The stocky blond met Rydar’s gaze, obviously puzzled at his truncated speech. So Rydar spoke again, with deliberate authority.

  “Mitt navn er Rydar Hansen og jeg er fra Norge! Hvem er deg?”

  The man’s mouth worked, but no words of response exited his surprised countenance. Satisfied that he no longer appeared to be an imbecile, Rydar addressed the man in the best Scots English he could muster.

  “My name is Rydar Hansen. I from Norway. Who you?”

  The man dipped his chin. “Kennan Fraser. Vassal to Lord Andrew Drummond, knight and courtier to King David.”

  Rydar’s brow lifted. “King David of Scotland?”

  “Aye. Did ye think ‘twas King David of the Bible?” he snorted.

  Rydar straightened his six-and-a-half feet of sunburnt muscle and glared down at the servant. He didn’t understand all the man’s words, but his tone was clearly rude. Rydar thrust Salle’s reins toward him.

  “Take care my horse.”

  Startled into compliance, the man accepted Salle’s reins, though it was not his job to do so. Rydar spun and stomped toward the keep, vastly irritated and pondering this unwelcome interruption of his plans.

  Who was this Lord Andrew? Obviously a wealthy man to judge by his horses and tack. He must be powerful if he was both a knight and a courtier to the King of Scotland. What was he doing visiting a small village like Durness, and a small castle like Grier’s? Was Grier in any sort of danger?

  Instead of only his hunting dagger, Rydar wished he had his long sword to hand, not resting against the wall of his sleep chamber. He drew a resolute breath and heaved open the door of the keep, having absolutely no idea whether he would face friend or foe once inside.

  ***

  Grier heard the front door open, but Lord Andrew was in the midst of an impressive tale and she daren’t look away. Only when he paused, and his gold-brown gaze lifted over her head, did she turn to see who had entered.

  Rydar stood tall in the doorway to the Great Hall. His linen shirt was filthy and one sleeve was ripped. His hose were dusty and stained with pitch. His hair was windblown. His brow burnt red by the sun.

  He looked like a rough tradesman, not the intelligent and educated man that he was. Grier needed to assure that Lord Andrew understood Rydar’s true nature and position—in defiance of his defiled appearance—before the handsome knight said or did something inappropriate.

  “Sir Hansen! I’m sae glad you’ve returned from your labors!” Grier crossed the room toward him, attempting to reassure him with her tone and her expression.

  He did not appear reassured. He frowned at her. “Aye?”

  Grier gestured toward her guest, but kept her gaze nailed to Rydar. She spoke clearly so he might understand. “May I present Lord Andrew Drummond, courtier to King David?”

  Rydar nodded and glanced at the regally dressed man behind her. “Of Scotland.”

  Grier gave a puzzled grin. “Well, of course. Where else?”

  Rydar�
�s pale green eyes returned to Grier and he looked her over from snood to slippers. He seemed confused. Stunned, even. That might explain his unusual response. And why she felt completely disrobed by his intense perusal.

  “Why he here?” he asked, staring hard at her.

  “Lord Andrew is assessing the northern lands. After the Death. For the king,” Grier stammered. Rydar shrugged. His gaze narrowed and bore into hers.

  “Assessing? Well, he is determining our resources…”

  Rydar shrugged again. His stare became a glare. Why was he wroth?

  Grier searched for simple words to explain. “Resources are our men and our sheep and our cattle… Do ye ken?”

  “Aye,” he grunted.

  Grier turned to Lord Andrew who regarded Rydar with a bemused expression. His consideration shifted to her and one eyebrow quirked in clear question.

  “May I present, Sir Rydar Martin Hansen of Green—land. Norway. Of Greenland and Norway.” Grier felt her face blaze. She was making a muddle of this. She couldn’t even recall all of Rydar’s names.

  Petter-Edvard.

  Shite.

  Rydar bowed his chin, but nothing else. He didn’t smile. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Andrew.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Sir Hansen.” One corner of Lord Andrew’s mouth lifted in obvious amusement. “Of Greenland and Norway.”

  Grier tensed, horrified at the jibe, but Rydar ignored the slight and addressed her again.

  “Bath.”

  A bath was an excellent idea. “Aye. Of course,” she said, relieved. “I’ll have Moira order the boys.”

  “Good.” Rydar disappeared from the doorway.

  “Shall we wait supper for you?” Grier called after him.

  He didn’t respond.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rydar assured Angus, Fergus and Morris that a cool bath was truly preferable on this warm day. He was already heated from the day’s sun, labors and excitement, and he didn’t wish to wait for hot water. He intended to return to the Great Hall as quickly as possible.

  His first impression of the heavily jeweled Lord Andrew was suspect. Richly dressed and strikingly handsome—so much so that even another man would note it—the knight was smug, obviously accustomed to being the most important man in any given room. Rydar needed to make certain that the man, and his importance to the King of Scotland, were not a danger to Grier.

  Grier! He had not recognized her in the Great Hall before she turned around. When he saw her, his breath rushed from his body and he could not command it to return. She was stunning beyond mere words. The brown velvet of her softly clinging gown enhanced the warm tones of her flawless skin. The silver belt rode the top of her hips accentuating her narrow waist. And with her tempestuous ginger-colored hair corralled, her blue eyes, full pink lips and strong cheekbones demanded his complete devotion. She was the most beautiful creature he could imagine. He was completely and utterly hers.

  And now he must dress appropriately and dine with Lord Andrew. Rydar took rapid but deliberate care with his appearance, keenly aware that he looked like a common cotter when he was first introduced to the knight. He must alter that impression and quickly, leaving no doubt that he was strong, capable, and willing to protect Grier in any manner required.

  But for a moment, Rydar slowed his hasty transformation to consider another side to the shiny gold coin that was Lord Andrew.

  Rydar was born into a society of which he was ignorant, but determined somehow to rejoin. He knew little of the etiquette of nobility. The courtier was a powerful man and Rydar might learn quite a lot by observing him. The lessons were needful before he returned to Hansen Hall in Arendal.

  Having no mirror in his chamber, Rydar managed the best he could with comb and clothing, and hoped the hurried result was adequate. He rushed down the stone stairs toward the sound of conversation. The rich aromas of supper rumbled his belly.

  When he appeared in the doorway of the dining hall cleaned, groomed, and dressed in the blue velvet-and-pearl doublet, dark gray hose and tall leather boots, all conversation halted.

  Rydar silently met the widened eyes of everyone gathered there: Logan, Malise, her father, Lord Andrew, and Grier. He straightened his shoulders and strode confidently into the room, refusing to limp in spite of the agonizing pain in his shin.

  ***

  “I’m sorry I late.” Rydar gestured at the bountiful meal spread across the table. “Please, eat.”

  Logan hopped up from his laird’s seat and dragged a heavily carved chair to the table’s side. “Sit here, Rydar. Beside Grier.”

  “Thank you, Logan.” Rydar eased into the chair and nodded a reserved greeting across the laden tabletop to Lord Andrew. He felt for Grier’s hand under the table and squeezed it; for what reason, he couldn’t say. He was simply compelled to do so. When she squeezed back, his world righted and felt rational once again.

  “Sir Hansen, the Lady Grier has told me that you’ve come all the way from Greenland in a very wee boat.” Lord Andrew paused in cutting his smoked salmon. His amused consideration of Rydar implied his question.

  “Aye.” Rydar determined not to say more than necessary until he could thoroughly evaluate the knight.

  The courtier waved his knife and changed the direction of his query. “So tell me: how did Greenland fare with the Black Death?”

  That shift was interesting. Rydar shook his head. “Is no Black Death in Grønnland.”

  Lord Andrew sat back, incredulity sculpting his neat, aristocratic features. “And how did Greenland manage to escape a plague that kilt more than half o’ Europe, then?”

  Rydar took a leisurely bite of his salmon before he answered. “Boats no’ come, five or six years. Grønnland is alone, aye?”

  “What boats are those?”

  “Boats from Norway.” Rydar sipped his wine. He lifted his goblet in salute to Logan and changed his own direction, hoping to knock the knight off balance. “Is good, Logan. Very good.”

  “Thank you,” Logan answered, looking pleased.

  Rydar faced Grier. “Salmon is best,” he complimented.

  Lord Andrew grunted, obviously irritated at Rydar’s cryptic answers and lack of predictable attention. Grier blushed, smiled, and kicked him under the table. Hard.

  “The boats from Norway brought your supplies, did they no’?” Grier’s blue eyes darkened in warning.

  “Aye,” he said. Then to placate her he added, “But with no boats, Grønnland dies.”

  “And that’s why you sailed for Norway.” Grier prompted.

  “Aye. In a very wee boat.” Rydar mocked Andrew’s words, risking another kick from Grier. Before she could retaliate, he gestured toward Logan with his fork, shifting the diners’ attention. “And near die in Balnakeil Bay.”

  Lord Andrew’s eyes jumped to Logan.

  “We—that is Grier and myself—pulled them from the sea in the midst of a wickit storm,” Logan explained to the knight. “If it weren’t for Grier’s considerable skills, Rydar might have faced the same fate as his shipmate—God sain the poor man’s soul.” He crossed himself, as did Grier.

  “Rydar was fair battered and his leg was broke,” Grier interjected.

  Lord Andrew scrutinized Rydar then, as if searching for remnants of injury. Rydar held the nobleman’s gaze while he slowly chewed another bite of smoked salmon. He suddenly felt as though he was in a game of chess with the knight. If Grier was the coveted queen, what piece was he?

  And did it matter? Even a pawn might take a queen if it plays well.

  The knight’s expression softened at the new information concerning their appealing hostess. His golden gaze abandoned Rydar to caress her instead, and he pursued the angle with obvious interest.

  “Is that so, my lady? Ye’re a healer?” he asked Grier.

  “She’s a fine healer, she is.” Logan grinned at his cousin. “There’s none better.”

  Andrew gave Grier a slow, sultry smile that twisted Rydar’s gut.
>
  Truthfully, any man with a pulse would be intrigued by Grier’s knowledgeable conversation, warm hospitality, and the way her firm curves moved beneath the soft velvet of her gown. She was enchanting.

  But it grated on Rydar to watch Lord Andrew respond like any man. He knew he must hide both his affection for Grier and his distrust of the courtier. So he unclenched his jaw and forced his tightly fisted hands to remain below the table’s top.

  Grier dipped her chin and her cheeks flushed beautifully at Logan’s praise. Then she blinked up at Rydar. Her sapphire eyes begged his cooperation. Gazing into their twin seas helped him relax, though it also encouraged a too-familiar twinge in his groin.

  Lord Andrew frowned. “How long past was this rescue?”

  Grier paused, and then turned to face Lord Andrew again. “The middle of May. It might be eight weeks now.”

  “Your leg is well?” he asked Rydar.

  “Aye.” The last thing Rydar would confess to this man was the residual pain that plagued him daily. “I very strong.”

  Lord Andrew squinted at him. “And ye speak Scots?”

  “I learn.”

  “So quickly?”

  One corner of Rydar’s mouth lifted. “I very cannie.”

  Lord Andrew nodded his narrow-eyed acknowledgement. “What will you do now?”

  Rydar hesitated and his smirk disappeared. “I… go.”

  “Where?”

  He couldn’t face Grier now; she mustn’t see his desperate longing. He kept his gaze fixed on Andrew. “Norway.”

  “How?”

  “I finish boat.”

  “When?”

  Rydar drew a breath to answer, but before he was able Logan injected, “No’ until after our wedding, of course!”

  Malise smiled at Rydar and spoke for the first time since he entered the room. “You will stay, Sir Hansen, will you no’? Logan wishes you to be there. As do I.”

  “Aye, Hansen.” Logan took Malise’s hand before pressing his case. “I hoped ye’d do me the honor of standing as my witness.”

  Rydar was pinned. He pressed his lips into a semblance of a smile and nodded slowly at the young couple. Though he hadn’t thought it through, he truly couldn’t leave before seeing Logan, his generous host, rescuer and friend, married. That would be rude. Of that much he was sure.