Vikings: Deception (The Great Heathen Army series Book 2)

by Ceri Bladen

  Bryan’s eyes widened briefly when he noticed Blyth walk into the hall carrying a tray of fruit. She should still be in the room with the others. His eyes frantically searched behind her, but there was no one following her. His gaze narrowed on Blyth, but the darned wench wouldn’t look at him. He brought his mug down quickly, causing a loud noise. He smirked when she jumped and looked at him – the fool. His grin soon disappeared when he noticed a necklace next to the hand she had placed on her breast. It was his sister’s jewellery!

  Instantly, Ubba realised Bryan had spotted the necklace, too. He whistled loudly before he lunged and grabbed Bryan’s clothes to pull him along the table. Both food and bowls went flying. Before Bryan’s soldiers knew what was going on, Ubba had sent his fist into the lord’s face a number of times. The doors burst open, allowing Ubba’s men to flood in. Within moments, the air became thick with profanities, battle sounds, and screams.

  Concentrating on the lord while his men were dealing with the others, Ubba pulled Bryan to his feet and continued to send his fist flying at his target. Ubba didn’t feel the impact on his knuckles or care about the blood on them. When Bryan stumbled backwards - the last blow sending him flying to the floor - Ubba glanced at the unmoving form and let out a disgusted snort. The lord was lucky they’d taken his axe when he’d arrived.

  Happy the lord would be out of it for a while, Ubba bent and took the dagger from his boots. He turned towards the battle going on behind him. He crouched and helped his men with their skirmishes. When the scene was finally quieter, he noticed Blyth. She looked in shock, her back against a wall. He strode over.

  “Go and find Rosfrith.” To make her refocus, he slapped her face when she didn’t reply. “Find my wife.”

  She nodded and scurried off.

  He turned back towards the dais just in time to see Bryan sit up and wipe his bloodied lip on his sleeve. He revolved around to face him, shoulders back, chest out, and chin high.

  Bryan staggered to his feet. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Ubba. “You’ll pay for this.”

  Ubba gave a half-shrug and grinned before becoming serious. “I’ll be not paying for anything.” He waved his arm around. “This is all of your doing, Lord Bryan Guader.” He spat the word lord out. He wasn’t worthy of the title.

  “I have friends.” Bryan stumbled over his words. “Even some of your kind, who would see you dead.”

  Ubba flexed his hands and the knuckles popped. “Oh, I know all about your Norse friends… and I’ll deal with them later.” He could see fear creeping into Bryan’s eyes, just before the fool of a man lunged towards him.

  Ubba allowed him to pounce, pleased to be forced to finish the fight. He pulled his body out of the way, and side-stepped Bryan’s bodyweight, grabbing a handful of his clothing as he passed.

  Before Bryan knew what was happening, he was face to face with Ubba. He stilled when he felt a tip of a dagger against the underside of his chin.

  “You have some talking to do, before I split that throat and you can talk no longer.”

  “Please, I pray. Don’t kill him, husband,” Rosfrith shouted over the din.

  Still buzzing from the fight, Ubba took a moment to recognise it was Rosfrith’s voice. “Rosfrith?” He swivelled his head to look at her, but still held Bryan tightly with one large hand, the other holding his dagger to Bryan’s artery. Energy pulsed through him. He wanted to let go of the rogue and rush over to Rosfrith, who’s eyes were widened in alarm, but he couldn’t let the weasel get away.

  “Please, let him go.”

  His heart tightened with regret - this wasn’t how he envisaged his reunion to be. He growled before throwing Bryan to the floor. For a long time, he held Bryan’s frightened gaze, not revealing his thoughts or decisions. “While your father breathes, you will run Dunwich. But, mark my words, on hearing of his last breath on earth, you will be on countdown to yours. You will continue to run Dunwich for Rosfrith and our children, for I am taking it for her dowry. Your father didn’t have the decency to gift her one. Then, I will return.” His gaze narrowed icily. “You can run and try to hide, but I will find you. Remember the Vikings rule your lands. You had your chance to live in peace, but you’ve a black heart. No one, and I mean no one, crosses me and lives.” Ubba hauled Bryan up roughly, nodding to his men to take him away. “Keep him in his bedchamber until we can talk about his conditions.” When they started to drag him away, Ubba turned towards Rosfrith, his face softening.

  She was suddenly cautious. She’d never witnessed Ubba so intense. He reminded her of those berserkers she’d seen fighting - nothing could pull them out of their blood-thirst. She thanked the gods he’d responded to her voice and spared Bryan. Even though she hated her brother, she would never wish him dead.

  “Rosfrith?” Ubba whispered. He tentatively stepped forward, as he sheathed his dagger. “Wife?”

  She felt the tears spring to her eyes. How will he react when I tell him our children are alive, and I lost them? Her trepidation flowed out of her when he opened his arms to welcome her.

  “Oh, Ubba.” She ran to him. When he gathered her within their strength, she was overwhelmed. She’d missed him. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes - finally back where she belonged.

  Ubba gently kissed the top of her head. He’d forgotten how small she was in his arms. When the wet of her tears trickled onto his neck, his chest tightened. He hadn’t protected what was his. He would now. And he would have revenge on each and every person who had threatened her. He squeezed tighter until he felt her twist. He loosened his hold.

  “Ubba, husband, I have something to confess.” She wiggled and took a step out of his arms, needing to be strong to face him. “I’ve…” She ran her clammy hands over her tunic, suddenly becoming tongue-tied. How did you tell your husband that you’d been silly enough to be duped from the beginning?

  “Don’t fret. I know, Rosfrith. Your brother” - he spat the word out - “confessed everything with a dagger to his throat.”

  “Ubba, I didn’t know. They told me my babies died.” Tears started to flow. “They told me Ragnar and Aslaug had died,” she repeated, pain tightening her chest.

  “Is that what you named them?” He didn’t dare tell her that Astrid had also called their son Ragnar Ubbasson. He didn’t want to distress her more. They would deal with it later.

  “Ay,” she smiled. “After your father and step-mother.”

  He nodded and then turned, pointing his thick finger at Blyth. “You will tell me exactly who has my babies. Are they harmed?”

  She shook her head. “A Norse man named Bard took them, if I am right in remembering, to a Viking named Guthrum.” She faltered under Ubba’s icy glare. “I think,” she mumbled.

  Anger ripped through him. Bryan hadn’t imparted that piece of information. “Bard Klaussen?”

  She nodded.

  A frown crossed Ubba’s face. He could understand Bard wanting revenge for choosing Rosfrith over him, but why on earth would Guthrum double cross him? As far as he knew, Guthrum was helping his brother, Halfdan, conquer England. They were on the same side. Or so he thought. He needed to warn Halfdan. “Took them where?”

  She shrugged. When she realised she still was on the end of Ubba’s frosty stare, she thought better and tried to remember. “I don’t know exactly, but Bard did mention a place called Lincolnshire…” Her brows knitted. It was no use, she couldn’t remember anything else.

  “Eirik, guard her,” he said, motioning towards Blyth. “She comes with us back to Ranaricii.” He ignored the look of horror on her face. He rotated back towards Rosfrith and gathered her up in his arms.

  She let some tears escape, overwhelmed by the feel of his arms around her. She had missed them so much.

  “Come on, Rosfrith. Let’s get you home to Ranaricii.” He stood back and grabbed her arms.

  “But we can’t. We have to get our babies back.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, my love. Do you think I can
just walk into Guthrum’s camp, wherever he may be, and ask for our babies? If he did even admit to having them, he would have made sure they are well hidden. He’s taken them for a reason.”

  “But…”

  Ubba squeezed her arms gently, shaking his head. “I must find out why Guthrum wanted the barns before I go and get them. I need to speak to my brothers, too, to see if they have any leverage on him. But, I will get them. For now, we must go back to Ranaricii for you to regain your strength.”

  Rosfrith shook her head.

  “Ay, this time you will listen to me, my love. Once you are better, we will find a way to retrieve them. And, let Óðinn be my witness, then we will exact our revenge…”

  #

  I hope you enjoyed reading this book. The next instalment in Ubba’s and Rosfrith’s journey will be out soon. It is called Vikings: Revenge’

  Follow me on Facebook to find out when - https://www.facebook.com/ceri.bladen

  If you did enjoy this book, a review on Amazon would very much be appreciated. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ceri-Bladen/e/B00AS0256Y

  Here are some snip-bits of other books I have written. Enjoy!

  Thanks

  Ceri Bladen

  Twelve – twelve keys, one secret – fantasy romance, full of gods,and coffee

  Twelve – twelve keys, one secret

  Prologue

  Brian’s tired eyes narrowed. He grimaced at the torrential rain, which pounded his car’s windscreen. Even on full power, the wipers fought a losing battle to remove the water, while Brian fought another losing battle against the condensation that obstructed his view.

  For a brief second, he dared to let go of the steering wheel to clean the windscreen. He tilted sideways to reach for the napkin in the seat beside him. He cursed as he fingered the half-eaten breakfast McMuffin that his heartburn wouldn’t allow him to finish. He licked the sauce off his fingers and eventually grabbed a paper napkin.

  Leaning forward, he wiped an area big enough to look through, but as he did, he realised this just wasn’t going to be his day. Ketchup smeared across the glass. He exhaled loudly with frustration and threw the napkin onto the floor. It silently joined the other debris that he kept meaning to remove from the car.

  Brian drove on slowly, the spray from the vehicle in front adding to his lack of vision. He grabbed the steering wheel a little tighter. He hated driving in storms. To be honest, at that moment, he was on a fast track to hating life.

  Squinting, Brian bent over the wheel in an attempt to work out exactly where he was. He was near a junction - and the lights were red. Praying that he wouldn’t aqua glide into a car, because that would really make his day, he slammed his foot on the brakes. Luckily, he didn’t collide with anything, and once he’d come to a stop and could breathe again, he wiped his clammy brow with his hand.

  He sat back and took a deep breath in the hope of relaxing. But, try as he might, he couldn’t. With his fingers tapping impatiently on the wheel, Brian attempted to block out the summer storm and the uncomfortable lack of air inside the car. There was no point worrying that he couldn’t breathe, it was his fault. He should have taken the time to get the air conditioning fixed. If he had, not only would it have taken away the humidity of the storm, more importantly, it might have stopped his wife nagging him about it, too.

  Rolling his shoulders, Brian attempted to dislodge the uneasy feeling he’d had since he’d dragged himself out of bed this morning. It unsettled him. Although he couldn’t put his finger on the reason, he thought it could be to do with the fact that he’d spent last night in the spare room. He blew out a short breath and sulked for a while until honking from the vehicle behind him made him jump. Startled, Brian pushed down on the accelerator and moved quickly away from the lights; so quickly that his tyres struggled to search for traction on the waterlogged road. Once he’d made it through the traffic lights, and the annoyed driver had passed, beeping him, he slowed down.

  When his heart finally resumed its regular beat, and he could think clearly, Brian made a mental note to ring his wife when he arrived at work. Looking back in the cold light of day, he realised that he’d been a prize jerk last night - coming home drunk and obnoxious. It wasn’t even the weekend, only Tuesday.

  Lena, his wife, had been fuming with him because their dinner had burned and he’d missed the final episode of a series they were watching together. After her initial verbal tirade, the only time she’d spoken to him was to tell him to use the spare room! At the time, he hadn’t cared because he’d silently laid all the blame at her feet, not his drunken ones, but now, well, he could see he was at fault.

  Realising he was coming to another junction, and seeing the red blur of traffic lights, he slowed, gradually this time. He let out a breath in frustration. It just wasn’t his day - even the lights were against him.

  While Brian waited, pressure built in his skull. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes and wished his thumping headache and heartburn would go away.

  Was karma repaying him for his actions last night?

  He snorted. He didn’t believe in karma, but if he did, he was sure that it had a lot more in store for him than bad weather and a headache.

  Suddenly feeling deflated, he tried to shake his negative thoughts away. Whatever mood he was in, he wasn’t going to get out of it by sulking. It didn’t matter how much stress he and his wife were under, he needed to do something about it. He knew deep down that for the last four years he hadn’t been dealing with their situation appropriately. He had no choice, but Lena had given up all her family and friends for him. Drinking and emotionally pushing her away was cruel - it made him the biggest loser around.

  Determined to make amends, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was time to show Lena how much he appreciated her commitment. Before he went home tonight, he’d get her some flowers and hopefully, that action would allow him access to some bedroom attention, too. He grinned.

  Now, that would be nice.

  Brian flicked a glance at the lights and noticed, at last, the rain had lessened enough for him to crack the window open. He bent and reached for the winder, desperate to let in some fresh air. As his window slowly lowered, he looked at the car that waited next to him. It was sleek and black, with blacked-out windows. Its engine purred.

  Brian bristled as his irritation grew once again. His fingers tapped the steering wheel. For all the effort he put into work in his menial job, he’d never be able to afford one of those.

  Again.

  When thoughts of his old life entered his head, he grimaced, bitterly remembering how life could play cruel games - giving with one hand, taking with another. But, he understood it was no use hankering for the past, and for all their previous luxuries. He had to remember that the most important thing was that he was much safer now, and Lena, too. He mustn’t forget that.

  Not being able to help himself, Brian sneaked another sidewards glance at the car. Okay, he could admit he was jealous. It didn’t matter that he was trying to forget his past, he never would, and it irritated the hell out of him that his red Ford looked like a rust bucket compared to that!

  Unable to look away, his interest increased when he attempted to work out the brand of the car. He hadn’t seen one like it before. Brian shifted in his seat, craning his neck to see if it had a maker's badge. He couldn’t see any; in fact, it didn’t seem to have any marks.

  Strange. He shrugged. It could be one of those prototype cars.

  Losing interest, Brian glanced at the wet road and checked on the lights. A frown added some more wrinkles to his brow. For some reason, the lights were taking ages to change today.

  A quiet whirring made Brian glance at the car again. He watched as the black windows lowered. He let out a short breath in irritation; they had electric windows, not manual like his.

  Get ready for some bragging.

  Brian forced a small smile in readiness, knowing the ‘look at my car’ routine; he’d done it often enough. H
is smile faltered when he saw four men, all dressed identically in dark grey suits, white shirts, and black ties, looking directly at him.

  Uncomfortable, Brian touched the pager the police had given him. He lifted his other hand briefly to acknowledge them. They gave no response. Quickly pulling his hand back from the half-wave, he resisted the urge to wind his windows up. He was bugged. They could have acknowledged him, not made him feel silly!

  A pathetic sounding horn from the car behind pulled Brian out of his negative thoughts. He looked at the light, which was now green. Sighing with relief, he changed into gear and pushed down on the accelerator, eager to get away and into work for a much-needed coffee.

  The black car pulled off effortlessly and passed him.

  Brian barely resisted the urge to flick the bird. The little ‘boy racer’ in him urged him to put his foot down and try and keep up with them, but the adult in him knew his car had no chance. Instead, he followed it for a while before it turned off the main road.

  Brian drove on before becoming bored with his company and the silence. He reached over to put the radio on. Crackling, it picked up a signal and ‘3 am’ by Eminem boomed out. Singing along, Brian forgot his previous agitation. So what if they had a better car, or that four males wanted to dress the same? He smiled to himself. Perhaps they belonged to some strange cult?

  When the song finished, the radio crackled again. He gave it a tap. The stormy weather was obviously playing havoc with the signal. He fiddled with the notch until ‘Four Days’ by The Counting Crows eventually blasted out.

  Happy with the choice, Brian turned his attention back to the road.

  With only seconds to register what was in front of him, he crossed his arms in front of his face. The last thing he saw, before his head smashed against the steamy windscreen, was the sleek black car.