“It must’ve been miserable for ye and ye people,” Shannon added.
“Not everythin’ was bad,” Gerta explained. “Both cultures came together as one makin’ Dublin a wealthy tradin’ center. We’ve all reaped the benefits.”
“Vikings have no heart,” Shannon stated, bending down to pick up a stone from the trail.
“Invasions are a part of life, Shannon. The stronger race will prevail. It’s just the way it is. Ye learn how to cope. Accept what’s before ye, or it’ll eat ye up inside. It’s difficult at first, but in time, ye’ll understand.”
“I don’ think I’ll ever will,” she sighed.
“Ye must realize that ye cannae change the world, Shannon,” Gerta advised, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We must make the best of this life, no matter how much time we have left to live it.”
Shannon sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She knew what Gerta spoke the truth, but it was difficult to accept. Her Irish pride would not allow it. Even compromising was out of the question. She would not surrender.
“Look ahead, Shannon.” Gerta pointed. “Dublin is teemin’ with life. Let’s go see what’s for sale.”
As they headed into port, Shannon was surprised how hectic the trading center was—the streets were filled with vendors, traders making deals, merchants inspecting goods. There were many people lining the streets, speaking different languages.
“Where are we goin’?” Shannon asked as Gerta took her hand.
“We are goin’ to haggle for pelts,” she replied, dragging Shannon along the path.
After reaching the town, they strolled along the street making their way to the vendors. Shannon stepped to the side and watched Gerta bargain with one peddler. This was different from anything she had experienced in her village. Her clan lived off the land—hunting and fishing, reaping the harvest during the growing season. Her people bartered with other clans, but it was nothing like what she saw in Dublin.
Suddenly, an uneasy feeling swept over her. Shannon was being watched. It was difficult to explain, but she just knew that someone had an eye on her. Could it be Magnus? He had a sick fascination with her. When she was recovering, he tried to visit her, but Gerta refused to let him in the longhouse no matter how hard he tried. She had strict orders from Ravenshield to keep Shannon in seclusion. Now that Shannon was better, Magnus had an opportunity to catch her alone. There was something about him that unnerved her.
Shannon stepped into the street and looked around cautiously. Two children ran by, chasing each other with wooden swords, sparring back and forth. It would be a few years before they would test their skills on the battlefield, she thought.
Shannon turned around and caught her breath. She felt her heart pound like a drum. Her palms moistened with sweat. She saw him leaning against a wagon, arms folded across his chest. Light brown hair fell loosely around his shoulders. A single plait hung to one side. The green tunic that he wore gaped open, revealing his broad chest. Tight leather breeches outlined his thighs, and black scuffed boots matched the belt tied at his waist. Gunnar Ravenshield was undeniably handsome even though he was a barbarian.
A familiar stir rolled in her belly. Heat warmed her in places unseen. No matter how hard she tried to resist, Shannon’s instincts betrayed her. Perhaps there was something that she wanted to deny. Not wanted, she thought. Needed.
Her heart throbbed uncontrollably, watching him rub his whiskery chin. Why did he have to be so goodlooking? He smiled at her, showing two perfect rows of white teeth. Heat flushed her face as she looked down at the ground. She raised her eyes bashfully and offered him a grin.
“There ye are,” Gerta said, strolling up beside her, “Look what I bought. This pelt will be useful when winter sets in. Shannon? Are ye listenin’ to me? What has ye so bewitched?”
“Look,” Shannon whispered.
Gerta snickered. “I told ye that he fancies ye, lass. I can see it in his eyes.”
“But he’s Viking.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Every time I’m with him, I feel that I’m betraying my people.”
“Haven’t ye listened to a word I’ve said? Gunnar is a good mon, lass. Ye should give him a chance.”
“He’s a Viking and will always be a Viking. Nothin’ is goin’ to change that.”
“I have one question for ye,” Gerta said.
“What is it?” Shannon asked.
“Is he gentle?” Gerta asked.
“Gentle?” Shannon looked her in the face.
“Oh lass,” Gerta chided, “Is he a gentle lover? Does he take his time with ye?”
Shannon’s face began to burn. “I suppose so. He doesnae beat me if that is what yer askin’.”
“Not all warriors are tender lovers, Shannon. A mon shows his woman how he feels about her when he makes love to her.”
“He’s verra gentle,” Shannon went on, “But it still doesnae change who I am, or who he is.”
“Set that aside for a moment.” Gerta went on, “What does yer body say?”
“I cannae control myself when he’s around,” Shannon replied, “It’s as if he has me under a spell. The harder I resist him...”
“The more ye want him,” Gerta said, “What does yer heart tell ye?”
“My heart tells me to stay away from him,” she answered.
“Do ye fear him or fear what ye may feel for him?”
“I don’ know, Gerta,” Shannon said nervously, “I just don’ know.”
Sensing Shannon’s apprehension, Gerta took her by the hand and said, “Come, let’s go back to the longhouse. We can talk about this later.”
Shannon shuffled along the path and looked back as Ravenshield slowly melted into the crowd. What was he thinking? Why was he following her?
Ravenshield strolled down to the beach after making sure that the two women headed toward the longhouse. The faint smell of salt floated in the air. Seagulls squawked loudly while running from the tide. Sand sloshed against his boots as he waded through the dunes.
He stopped on the embankment and pulled Shannon’s necklace from his belt, holding it in front of him. The Celtic cross glimmered in the sunlight. Its endless knotwork and swirls weaved a pattern of beauty that he had not seen before. The halo was decorated with spirals that laced all the way around. Whomever forged it knew what they were doing, he thought, admiring the intricate details.
Suddenly, he heard Freya’s voice echo through his mind—
Shannon is the key to power as well as destruction. But love can conquer all.
He breathed in the salty air and exhaled, trying to decipher Freya’s message. Shannon was the one who could weaken everything he stood for. She believed in the new religion—a powerful creed that chipped away at all he deemed sacred. It terrified him.
And where did love fit in to all of this? It would be impossible to fall in love with a woman who could bring him to his knees. Someone of his status couldn’t afford to let down his guard for anyone—especially to a woman. Too much was at stake, and he was not going to allow Shannon to render him helpless. After all, he was a warrior, a conqueror.
A Viking.
Still, the fact remained that Shannon was the most desirable woman he had ever slept with. With hair the color of the sunset and eyes as blue as the sea, she could captivate any man. Her body was soft and curvy in all the right places—he loved holding her late at night, feeling her skin mold to his, listening to the quiet sound of her breathing. And the passion shared between them was insurmountable. He loved the way she melted in his arms with each stroke of his hand. Her kisses were filled with a desire that set his loins aflame. No other woman had ever affected him like this—until now.
It’s a shame that she was an outsider, he thought as visions of her naked body danced in his head. If things were different, then he could easily fall for her. Not only was she beautiful, but Shannon possessed a powerful sense of courage. She was strong-willed and stubborn, brave and
spirited. All of these traits deemed her the Valkyrie of Fire—the one who could strengthen a nation or destroy it.
Though she had qualities that were necessary for a warrior, he saw another side of her that no man had ever known. She was tender and submissive when it came to making love. A willing woman was always welcomed in his bed, he thought as a smile crept over his face.
Ravenshield inhaled the fresh air and looked into the ocean. As he watched the ebb and flow of the tide creep along the water’s edge, a battle between emotions and rational thought raged on. He could not allow himself to be seduced by Shannon—he had to resist temptation. But that was easier said than done, he thought. He dug into the small satchel that hung from his belt and pulled out the stones that the goddess had given him. Amber and jade.
They will protect you.
He peered up to the sky and closed his eyes. Freya’s words were cryptic and unsettling. Conquering cities and villages were so much easier than trying to decipher prophecies, he thought.
Overwhelmed by the thoughts running through his mind, Ravenshield scratched his stubbly chin and sighed. He just could not make sense out of it no matter how hard he tried. How could this woman be the Valkyrie of Fire when she wasn’t Viking? Shannon bore the mark of Freya, but she didn’t believe in the Norse gods. She believed in the new religion—the same religion that had weakened his gods and goddesses. Ravenshield shook his head wearily. He was tired and frustrated. How could he figure out the puzzle when he did not have all the pieces? Freya’s voice whispered quietly in his head.
One must look deeper to find the truth.
Ravenshield walked up to the docks and panned the sky as a cool breeze brushed against his face. Perhaps there was an easier way to find out answers, he thought, taking a thin piece of parchment from his satchel. He scribbled a few words and folded the message neatly.
He drew in a deep breath and whistled, listening to the shrill sound pierce the air. In the distance, Andor gracefully glided across the cloudy sky, flapping his wings vigorously. Ravenshield stretched out his arm and waited for the bird to perch.
Within seconds, the falcon bellowed out a call and plunged like an arrow seeking a target. His feathers flattened as the bird continued on its rapid descent. Faster and faster he fell. His talons extended. Finally, Andor flapped his wings to slow his fall and landed on Ravenshield’s leather clad forearm, cocking his head from side to side.
“I have a quest for you, Andor,” he said, slipping the message into a small deerskin pouch, “Bring back answers.”
With a flap of his wings, the bird bolted from Ravenshield’s arm and darted across the sky toward Arklow. Hopefully, it would not take long to get a reply, Gunnar thought, watching the falcon disappear into a thick puff of clouds. He had to find out more about Shannon in order to unlock the hidden meaning of Freya’s message.
Truthfully, Ravenshield did not know much about Shannon other than she had been declared the Chosen, the Valkyrie of Fire. Her past remained a mystery, a sea filled with questions. Of course, he knew that she was from the small Irish village, but the intimate details of her life remained hidden. He was determined to unlock all of her secrets.
A subtle grin curled his lips as he stepped off the dune. Knowing that it would take awhile for Andor to deliver the message, Ravenshield’s mind reeled with ideas. There had to be a way to find out more about Shannon sooner, he thought. But how?
Suddenly, it dawned on him—he kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. With a little persuasion, he could get the answers straight from her. His plan did not involve force or threats. Those tactics would only deter a woman like Shannon. No, he thought as his smile grew larger. She could not resist a proper wooing—a powerful weapon that would unveil more than just her deepest secrets. His chest filled with pride, knowing he was a step closer to the truth.
Chapter 11
“Do we have enough mead?” Gerta asked, shuffling around the kitchen.
“Yes,” Shannon replied, “I’ve refilled the flagons.”
“Good. Have ye finished cleanin’ the fish?”
“They’re all cleaned and smoked. I’ve sent the platter down.”
“Then everythin’ is ready for the feast.” Gerta breezed by with a plate of cheese and smiled. “Ye have become quite useful in the kitchen, lass.”
“Thank ye, Gerta,” Shannon said, arranging the parsnips and radishes, “I’ve learned from the best.”
Suddenly, Kiera burst through the door and threw a basket of potatoes on the table. Several of them rolled off the counter, hitting the dirt floor with a thud. She turned to Shannon and rolled her eyes. Tension filled the room.
“Yer late,” Gerta snapped.
“I have been busy,” Kiera shot back, brushing against Shannon’s shoulder as she stomped by.
“Watch it,” Shannon said through clenched teeth.
“What?” Kiera barked.
Shannon had had enough of Kiera’s snide remarks and threatening glares. She tried to quell her anger, but this was the last straw. It was time to call her out. “Have I wronged you in some way?”
Kiera turned around and growled, “You do not belong here.”
“I had no choice,” Shannon hissed, balling up her fists.
“Stop arguin’ before everyone hears ye,” Gerta ordered.
“I did not start it,” Kiera said innocently.
“Och!” Shannon grunted, “Ye nearly took my arm off.”
“Too bad it was not your head,” Kiera grumbled.
“What did ye say?” Shannon took a step forward.
Gerta stepped between them. “Enough is enough! There’ll be no fightin’ in my kitchen. Somethin’ is sour between the two of ye, and it’s time to settle this once and for all.”
“She is the one with the problem,” Kiera announced, glaring straight at Shannon.
“This is madness,” Shannon huffed, “Ever since I came here, ye have treated me as if I have the plague.”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Kiera scoffed, “You must be weak-minded. I was just sent here to deliver a message.”
“Out with it.” Gerta gritted her teeth.
Kiera cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “Gunnar requests your presence at King Olaf’s feast this evening. He wants you to go to his chambers straight away.”
Shannon shook her head and sighed. Jealousy was the root of it all, she thought. There was more work to be done, and she did not have time for fighting. “I never asked for this.”
Kiera grabbed her by the arm. “It is a matter of time before he is finished with you and comes back to me.”
Shannon jerked away and spat, “If ye would’ve satisfied him in the first place, then he wouldnae need me!”
She sauntered out of the room and heard Kiera scream. Pottery crashed to the floor. From the sounds of it, she was destroying the entire kitchen. The girl had apparently gone mad, Shannon thought, hearing something slam against the door. It was a matter of time before the girl utterly lost her mind.
Kiera’s outbursts were more than enough reason to leave Dublin, Shannon thought as she marched down the narrow hallway. How could anyone deal with her tantrums? Each day that went by only increased the animosity, fueling hatred and contempt. And it was all over a man. Gunnar Ravenshield.
After rounding the corner, Shannon grabbed the latch to Ravenshield’s bedchamber and paused. No wonder Kiera was so upset, she said to herself. The woman had been rejected by him, kicked out of his bed. He had shunned her.
Ravenshied preferred making love to Shannon, it was plain to see. Night after night he would come, and she would fall into his arms, secretly delighting in the pleasures of the flesh. The hunger that stirred in her belly was too potent to resist. She could not help it. He was probably waiting for her inside his bedchamber while she stood outside.
“Go on, Shannon,” she whispered, fumbling with the handle, “Just open the door.”
She could already taste his kisses, coul
d feel his lips scorch her skin. Moisture gathered between her legs while her nipples hardened instantly, protruding through the fabric of her dress. Ravenshield had bewitched her. It was unbelievable how he could propel her in a realm of ecstasy with a stroke of his hand. She had no willpower when he was around.
With a loud click, Shannon unlocked the door and pushed it open. She looked inside and saw light streaming in from the window, casting an eerie glow around the room.
“Gunnar?” She stepped through the threshold cautiously. “Are ye in here?”
There was no answer. Shannon held her breath and looked around. Shadows danced on the walls. Smoke sputtered from a candle flickering on the nightstand. The ashy smell tweaked her nostrils as she drifted toward the bed. There was something draped on top of the covers—a dress. She reached out and touched it, admiring the rich color. It was beautiful, exquisite.
Shannon held the dress in front of her and smiled. The white undertunic was gathered at the sleeves and flowered out at the wrists. The blue outer dress was embroidered with gold thread and laced both sides of the bodice, ensuring a tailored fit.
“Gunnar,” she whispered, “Ye do have good taste.”
A sweet aroma drifted in the room. It was intoxicating—obsessively delicious. Shannon turned around and saw a bottle of incense sitting on the table adjacent to the bed. She glided over and removed the cork, sniffing the liquid. Heather. The delicate scent brought back memories that had been locked away in her mind. It reminded her of the meadowlands near Bennetraige where the fields were covered with purple petals sprouting from the shrubs. Of all the flowers that peppered the landscape, heather was her favorite.
“It’s no use wastin’ time,” she breathed. Scooping up the gifts, Shannon headed for the door. It was Saturday and it was time to bathe. That was one Viking practice she did not mind, she more than welcomed a warm soak in luscious oils.
Rounding the trail to the bathhouse, Shannon looked forward to a moment of peace. She deserved it after dealing with Kiera’s latest outburst. If she would just go away, then life in Dublin would not be that bad. As a matter of fact, it would be quite pleasant.
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