Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02

by The Rover Defiant

  A NEW HOME

  Two days later, Bryk carried Magnus in one arm and led Cathryn by the hand around the outside of the long rectangular house he’d built. “We wove thin branches to make the walls,” he explained, wishing he’d been gifted with magic to erect a better dwelling for her in the brief time he’d had available.

  “Wattle,” she said. “But the outer walls are sod.”

  “Ja! Mud holds the sticks together. But to keep out the wind we piled turf against the outside.”

  He gestured to the growing pile of firewood chopped in preparation for the colder months. “We were lucky to dig a good well with sweet water, and on the morrow, laborers will erect a shelter over the latrine.”

  “It’s incredible, Bryk. You have worked hard.” She peered up at the pitched roof. “It’s high. Who did the thatching?”

  “Me,” he replied proudly.

  “Pappaen,” Magnus shouted with glee, poking his father’s chest.

  She laughed. “You’ve been teaching him. But you don’t like heights. You admitted it after Chartres.”

  He looked sheepish. “Huh. Standing atop a siege engine looking down at swiftly running water isn’t the same as working on your own house.”

  She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “I’m proud of you. This is a wonderful home. The view is extraordinary, and the profile of the rock promontory—it’s as if the gods—”

  She smiled slyly. “I sound more like a Viking every day.”

  A tingling began in his loins. He was anxious to show her the bedchamber. “Everything you see is ours. This dwelling is temporary. There is stone available in the area and local people speak of iron ore deposits nearby. It may take a few years but we will build a solid dwelling of stone.” He took her hand. “Careful. You have to step down when we go inside. It’s dug out, Viking style. Keeps out draughts.”

  Cathryn expected to walk into one big room, but Bryk had built a small entrance hall.

  “In winter, we take off boots and cloaks here,” he explained. “Then we go into Great Room.”

  He led her into a large area furnished with chairs woven of willow saplings, and a sturdy wooden table. “Don’t tell me you made these too,” she teased.

  He looked at her curiously. “I know how to make, but local peasants made them. Franks.”

  At one end was an area for cooking. A large cauldron had been suspended from the ceiling joist to hang over a ring of stones. Above it a hole had been cut into the roof. Cathryn suddenly felt nervously inadequate. She stared at the pot. “I can’t cook, Bryk. I didn’t work in the kitchens at the abbey and servants prepared everything at my uncle’s house.”

  He tightened his arm around her waist. “I didn’t marry you for your cooking,” he teased. He puffed out his chest in mock superiority. “Besides, I am the Comte. I have servants. Rollo expects it.”

  They laughed together, and Magnus joined in, adding to their amusement.

  Bryk showed her the storeroom, already stocked with smoked meats and gutted rabbits. “There is abundant game in the forests and fields in this valley, fish aplenty in the river,” he said with a wink.

  Her heart bounced against her ribs when he ushered her into the bedchamber. “The bed is big enough for six people,” she exclaimed, running a hand over the sheepskin coverlet.

  He shrugged. “I’m a big man,” he said with a lustful smile, his voice low and husky. “And I like room to play.”

  He gestured to a smaller bed tucked into a corner. “For Magnus, but when other babes come, we will have to share with our children.”

  Magnus insisted on being put down on the pallet, where he curled up, smiling happily.

  “Smart boy,” Bryk said, hunkering down to tousle his son’s hair.

  Cathryn sat on the edge of the enormous bed, deeming this the right moment to share her news. She had feared the rigors of the journey might rob her of the new life growing in her womb. “We won’t have this bed to ourselves for much longer.”

  Bryk turned to face her, his brow furrowed, then looked at her belly. Smiling, he fell to his knees at her feet, his head on her lap, his arms around her thighs. “Freyja has truly blessed you, Cathryn.”

  The heat of his body awakened the familiar yearning. “She has blessed us both,” she replied. It dawned on her then that she believed what she had said. It had become as natural to call upon Bryk’s Norse gods as it was to pray to her patron saint.

  He kissed her belly. “Another son.”

  She stroked his hair, wondering what she had done to deserve such happiness. “Or daughter.”

  He stared up at her. “Do you like my Eden?”

  She brushed her lips over his, savoring the taste of his breath. “It’s paradise.”

  FULL CIRCLE

  Despite the autumn chill Torstein couldn’t have been any deeper in Hel.

  He narrowed his eyes and studied the hundred or so Norsemen gathered in a circle around him in the open field near his uncle’s house. They’d come to bear witness to Vilhelm’s judgement.

  He shrugged off the cold wind raising gooseflesh on his bare chest and tattooed arms. He’d left off his shirt and tunic, determined to display his scars and the proof of his battle honors.

  He smelled winter in the air, though thanks be to Odin the winter in Francia had proven to be nothing like the bone-chilling ordeals he’d survived in Norway.

  He knew the men gathered around him, had fought with many, saved some of them from certain death, including Sven Yngre who refused to meet his gaze. By rights Sven should be standing with him.

  However, he wasn’t alone in the circle. Sonja stood a few feet away, shivering. Apparently no one had offered her a cloak, not even her brothers who stood near Sven. Her nose was red, her lovely face pinched. She’d spent the last two days confined to a tent erected for some of the women, and suspected they had shunned her. Only Cathryn had visited and offered comfort.

  Yet his beloved stood with her spine straight, shoulders back, her noble birth evident, despite her clothing being more soiled than anything he’d ever worn as Bryk’s thrall. And her gaze was fixed on him, a hint of a smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

  He’d done everything possible to prove he was worthy of her and his heart was at peace that she knew it if no one else did. It was up to the gods now and they both accepted it.

  If Vilhelm decided for Sven, Torstein would never marry, but Sonja would be forced into a loveless marriage, and he feared for her. She was a woman made for love, for passion.

  His dark mood lifted when Frits unexpectedly hurried to his sister and put his cloak around her shoulders. He left the circle, glowering at Kennet.

  Torstein didn’t have time to ponder what this meant. He clenched his fists as Vilhelm Longsword strode into the circle, followed by Bryk. It was impossible to glean anything from his uncle’s stern expression and Vilhelm seemed more concerned with keeping the end of his weapon away from his feet.

  The Duke’s son cleared his throat, but it was Bryk who spoke first. “Every man here knows me,” he said softly.

  Grunts of agreement greeted his pronouncement. Kennet’s attention seemed fixed on his boots.

  Bryk came to stand beside Torstein and put a hand on his shoulder. His hopes rose as strong fingers dug into his flesh. His uncle couldn’t have made a more telling gesture of support.

  Bryk’s eyes traveled around the circle. “And you know this man. Born a thrall, yes, but a warrior who has demonstrated nothing but courage since his freedom was granted.” He looked directly at Vilhelm. “Many of you would be in Valhalla now were it not for him. Regardless of what happens here today, I intend to deed to him the land granted to me in Rouen as a reward for his bravery.”

  A nagging worry he was a landless nithing had plagued Torstein. If he and Sonja were allowed to be together he would have nothing to offer her. His spirits rose.

  “However—”

  Torstein felt the chill when Bryk removed his hand and walked away.

/>   “—He is also my nephew, and therefore I recuse myself from rendering judgement on Torstein Kriger.”

  A gasp of surprise rippled its way around the circle of men, gathering momentum like the storm tide that had devastated their settlement in Norway. Kennet looked up, his eyes wide.

  Sonja swayed. Had she understood, as her brother had, that his uncle was trying to help them? He itched to rush to her side, to reassure her hope was still alive.

  He called me Kriger.

  Vilhelm had to clear his throat five or six times before order was restored. He glowered at Bryk, which didn’t augur well. “Before I deliver my decision, does anyone else have anything to offer to the proceedings?”

  Men eyed their neighbors, then studied their feet. Torstein opened his mouth to ask why he wasn’t allowed to speak, why they were behaving as if he were on trial for a crime. He closed it abruptly when Sven took a step into the circle.

  Sonja might have collapsed had Bryk not hurried to her side and supported her. Torstein’s love for his uncle welled up in his heart. No matter the outcome of today, he had won Bryk’s respect and love and been welcomed into the bosom of the Kriger family.

  Despite the cloak, Sonja was freezing, numbed to the bone by the chilly wind and the dread Vilhelm might decide in Sven’s favor. Her brothers’ behavior confused her, and she suspected they were as usual sitting on the fence to see who won. They probably had some ulterior motive, but what might it be?

  The one thing keeping her blood from turning to ice was the sight of Torstein standing defiant, his hard-won battle tattoos on display. Compared to many of the tall, bulky men encircling him he was small of stature, but in her eyes he was a giant.

  Why Freyja had decided it was her destiny to fall in love with a freed slave, she didn’t understand, but she would go to her grave loving him.

  A chill marched steadily up her spine as she studied Sven. She pitied him. He was handsome, honorable, courageous, and it was probable Vilhelm’s judgement would bind him to a wife who loved another. Everyone stared at the young man who’d never hidden his desire for her. He deserved better.

  He bowed to Vilhelm, his jaw clenched. “I will, of course, abide by your decision, my lord.”

  Vilhelm nodded.

  Sven turned to Torstein. He swallowed hard. “You, Torstein Kriger, are the brother of my heart. You have protected me a hundred times, as I have protected you. It matters not to me you were once a thrall. In my eyes you are a warrior, and I hope in the end we will remain friends.”

  Sonja was thankful for Bryk’s strong arm as she watched Torstein struggle for control of his emotions. She gasped when Sven turned to face her.

  She wanted to tell him her esteem for him was boundless, but she didn’t love him. However, this wasn’t a place where a woman’s voice would be welcomed.

  He inhaled deeply. “Sonja Karlsdatter. I have never made any secret of my wish to wed you. You are a woman any man would be proud to take to wife.”

  Bryk’s grip on her arm tightened. “Stay strong,” he whispered.

  Sven smiled. “But your heart belongs to another.”

  He turned to address Vilhelm. “By your leave, I withdraw my offer to wed Sonja,” he declared curtly, his jaw clenched.

  The Duke’s son stared at him open-mouthed, as did most of the men gathered there. Sonja wanted to shower him with kisses of gratitude then rush into Torstein’s arms. But Bryk held firm. “Not yet,” he rasped close to her ear.

  “Granted,” Vilhelm mumbled at length.

  Pandemonium broke out, but a lone voice shocked everyone into silence. “Wait,” Torstein shouted. “My lord Vilhelm, Sonja’s fate rests with Frits and Kennet Karlsen since her parents are in Rouen. I ask their permission to take her as my wife.”

  At the moment she believed the nightmare was over, Torstein had placed their fate in the hands of her witless brothers.

  “I support the marriage,” Bryk announced loudly, rekindling her hopes.

  Frits and Kennet stared at each other, seemingly struck dumb.

  Vilhelm fiddled with the belt of his scabbard. “Well?”

  Both men nodded at once. “We agree,” Frits declared with a smile.

  It was unbelievable.

  Vilhelm drew out his prodigious sword and held it aloft. “In the name of Rollo, Duke of the Norsemen, I recognize the betrothal of Torstein Kriger and Sonja Karlsdatter.”

  Bryk freed her arm. “Go to him now.”

  Somewhere, far away, there was cheering. But Sonja saw only Torstein’s smile, heard only the thud of his heart as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his, the icy chill banished from her limbs by his heat.

  The world swam in a green blur as he picked her up and twirled her round and round, his lips pressed firmly to hers.

  A BARGAIN

  In the days that followed, Vilhelm, Bryk and the men chosen as their close advisors conceived a plan to rout any remaining Bretons who might be lurking in the area. Cathryn had worried the appointment of both Sven and Torstein to this council might lead to friction, and was relieved when her husband assured her such was not the case.

  Torstein had secured a place on the council by virtue of being a landowner, albeit his land was in Rouen.

  She was also relieved Vilhelm had elected to lead the expeditionary force, and her husband would remain at Montdebryk to attend to completing ditching, banking and the erection of palisades around the promontory. Men who weren’t assigned to the expeditionary force were expected to contribute to the fortification of the promontory in order to qualify for assistance from others with their own dwellings.

  “It’s a wonderful idea,” she told Bryk as she settled Magnus on her lap to feed him his porridge.

  “This is the Norse way,” he explained, breaking apart a loaf of bread. “Our stone dwelling and the promontory will someday in the future provide a gathering place and a safe haven if necessary.”

  “I have to admire your nephew,” she went on, “he has no land in the valley, but has worked as hard as anyone on the fortifications.”

  “Huh!” he grunted in reply. “He should. He sleeps on the floor of my house every night. I don’t like having to keep quiet when I’m making love to my wife.”

  Magnus laughed out loud, splattering his mother’s chemise with bits of porridge.

  Smiling, Bryk reached forward to wipe his face. “It’s not funny, little Viking. You’ll find out.”

  Trying not to laugh, Cathryn brushed the food off her clothing. “I’m not happy about the arrangement either, but what can we do? At least he hasn’t asked if Sonja can sleep here too, and she must be uncomfortable in the women’s tent.”

  Bryk glared, chewing on his bread. “We have to get him a piece of land in the valley. Rouen is too far away. Rollo has given permission for their marriage but he and Sonja will always face censure there. Here we can make new rules.”

  Cathryn shifted Magnus to her other hip and rested her hand against her husband’s cheek. “I can’t believe I’m hearing these words from you.”

  His face reddened as he covered her hand with his. “I am the Comte now. I must consider the well-being of the people of this region. Torstein will be a valuable asset in taming this land.”

  “And you care about him,” she teased.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Ja,” he agreed reluctantly. “I care.”

  “Care about who?” Torstein asked as he came in from the entryway.

  “Your uncle cares about you,” Cathryn replied as he took Magnus from her and hoisted him onto his shoulders. “Careful, he’s got porridge everywhere.”

  “Horse, horse,” Magnus shouted, laughing when Torstein obliged by galloping around the table.

  Torstein had overheard something of the conversation on his way in, and couldn’t resist needling his uncle. “About me? Surely you’re mistaken?” he said with a wink, then whinnied, sending his cousin into fits of giggles.

  Bryk got up abruptly. “Don’t tempt me
, or I’ll soon dig out your slave collar again.”

  There was a time when such a remark would have broken Torstein’s spirit, but he recognized the glint in his uncle’s eye. He lifted Magnus and gave him back to his mother. “I’m like a thrall anyway; I’ve been digging and tree felling and hammering since dawn.”

  He deemed it best not to mention the blisters on his palm that had made the tasks more difficult.

  Bryk shrugged. “And more to come. It’s Sven’s turn to receive the assistance of a work crew.”

  Torstein had hoped to spend time with Sonja, but this was a chance to thank Sven for his noble gesture. An opportunity hadn’t presented itself at the council meetings. He followed his uncle outside and they rode the seven miles to Sven’s holding. Others joined them en route as they passed partially finished homes. Most had a canvas shelter pitched nearby—temporary quarters for the waving womenfolk and barefoot children.

  As they rode onto Sven’s land, Torstein was taken aback. “He hasn’t made much progress on his house,” he said to his uncle.

  Bryk nodded. “Perhaps his heart isn’t in it.”

  They dismounted and Sven came to shake Bryk’s hand, then Torstein’s. It was now or never. He gripped his friend’s hand in both of his. “I want to thank you, Sven,” he said. “It was a noble gesture. I swear I will do everything in my power to make Sonja happy.”

  Sven smiled, waving a greeting at the other workers. “Make sure you do. But the truth is I came to realize Sonja and I would never be happy together. Why make three people miserable?” He glanced at Bryk, seemingly hesitant to continue. “In fact, I miss Rouen, and my mother will never come to the frontier. She enjoys her comforts.”

  Torstein wasn’t surprised by his friend’s admission. “What will you do with your land here?”

  Sven shifted his weight from one foot to the other, gazed off into the distance, scratched his head, then cleared his throat, avoiding Bryk’s gaze. “I want to make you a proposition.”

  Torstein glanced at Bryk, but his uncle’s expression was unreadable. “A proposition?”