Sirens of the Northern Seas: A Viking Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “He’ll find us soon,” Sigmar replied softly. “He rarely lets me out of his sight.”

  “Will you kill him?” she asked, despite an inner determination to avoid the subject.

  He didn’t slacken the pace he’d set. “I have given my solemn oath I will not,” he assured her.

  She shook her head, relieved by his words, but still troubled. “He’s certain you’ll exact revenge.”

  He stopped abruptly and looked her in the eye. “Do you know why I swore not to kill him?”

  She might drown in those depths as blue as bluebells. “The king demanded it,” she murmured.

  “Nej, min lille en,” he rasped. “If I slay him, you will be honor bound to kill me. If we are to escape the feud that destroyed everything you and I loved, I cannot take revenge. I do not fear death, but I have no wish to live with your hatred. You cannot have failed to notice at the dock the effect you have on me.”

  She wondered how much further to the new langhus. It wouldn’t be appropriate to wrestle him to the ground and rain kisses the length of his powerful neck. “I could never hate you, Sigmar,” she whispered.

  He resumed their walk. “Good. Because we live in dangerous times, and a warrior cannot always foresee what will happen.”

  Her heart plummeted to her boots. She risked a sideways glance up at him, but his handsome face gave away nothing.

  Bunkhouse

  The langhus turned out to be a basic bunkhouse hastily constructed from roughly hewn timbers. Sigmar scanned the cramped space. Exactly twelve narrow sleeping alcoves lined the walls. Evidently the builders had been unaware there might be females in the contingent.

  Audra stood beside him in the entryway. “Not to worry,” she said with a shrug, “I’ve shared with men before.”

  While that might be true, he got the feeling from the uncertainty in her eyes she wasn’t comfortable with what she saw. “We’ll rig a dividing curtain of some sort,” he suggested, not looking forward to the prospect of sleeping near her with only a curtain between them.

  She walked over to the hearth in the center and peered up into the rafters. “Looks like they did a passable job of making a large enough hole for the smoke,” she muttered. “We’ll check outside to see if they provided a bathhouse, and then find somebody to climb up into the thatch. I don’t want to wake up in the night soaked to the skin.”

  Her practical attitude led him to believe she’d inspected barracks many times before. He didn’t envy the carpenters if she found something not up to her standards.

  Behind the bunkhouse they came upon a thrall lime-washing the planking—but no bathhouse. Audra braced her legs, hands on hips. “Where are we to bathe?” she asked in a low voice that sent chills up his spine, even though she wasn’t addressing him.

  The slave kept his eyes downcast, but pointed to a nearby clump of hawthorns. “There’s a spring. No need for a bathhouse.”

  She glanced at Sigmar, probably unaware of the flicker of delight that softened her scowl. “A spring! Let’s see.”

  As they made their way to the bushes, his head filled with images of swimming naked with her in the privacy of a deep, crystal clear pool. His hopes were dashed. A small waterfall cascaded over rocks into a shallow basin whence it trickled away to disappear in the grass beneath the bushes.

  Audra’s delight showed on her face. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed with a broad smile. “Can’t wait to be clean again.”

  Her innocent pleasure in the promise offered by a chilly cascade transported him back to Jomsborg. As children they’d stood under waterfalls together, laughing with exultation at the splash of cold water on their skin. Without thinking he took her hand. She looked up at him.

  “Do you remember?” he rasped.

  “Of course I do,” she murmured in reply, flexing her fingers in his grip. Her voice spoke of memory, but her brown eyes betrayed desire.

  *

  Audra raked her eyes over Sigmar’s broad frame. For a brief moment she was tempted to suggest they strip off their tunics and run into the curtain of water, and not just to relive happy childhood memories. She wanted to see him naked, and to bare her body to his gaze.

  Nervous uncertainty tightened her throat. In the space of a few days she’d gone from utter disdain for men to intense longing for the giant who stood at her side. The warmth of his hand spoke of something other than reminiscences.

  “I’m no longer that boy,” he said hoarsely, stroking her palm with his thumb.

  The thrill of the unexpected caress spiralled into her womb and thence to her nipples. “And I am not that innocent little girl,” she whispered.

  She swayed, dreading he might kiss her, but hoping he would. “Too much stands—”

  He silenced her with an urgent kiss. The need to respond sent her reasoning flying to the four corners of the earth. She’d never been kissed before but somehow her tongue knew how to mate with his. She breathed with him, tasted the sweet warmth of his mouth, inhaled the intoxicating scent of leather and man, rejoiced in the pure splash of water on rock.

  He crushed her to his body as he lifted her. She was helpless, her feet dangling in mid-air, and she loved it. Home, home, pounded in her brain; a pulse throbbed in her most private place where his male hardness pressed.

  “I want you,” he rasped into her neck when the need to breathe broke them apart.

  Her heart was beating too fast. Did he mean he wanted her like all men wanted women?

  “As my wife,” he said, as if sensing her fear.

  Ja! Ja! To be his wife. To bear his children.

  “We can never wed,” she replied sadly, her heart breaking. “You know that. My father—”

  As if her words conjured him, Fingal’s angry voice reached them. He was shouting at the thrall working on the bunkhouse, demanding to know the whereabouts of his daughter.

  Sigmar exhaled a long slow breath and set her back on her feet. Their gazes met. “We will find a way,” he promised grimly.

  She followed him back to the bunkhouse, filled with dread. Her father would fight to the death to keep them apart.

  The First Recruit

  Audra was thankfully spared the diatribe her father was about to unleash. The words died on his snarling lips when Praxia and Sophia arrived together, each laden with various bundles belonging to Sigmar and Audra. He slunk off in the direction of the spring.

  Praxia had travelled in Fingal’s boat and it was likely Sophia had ridden in a slave boat, so it seemed to Audra their acquaintance must have been brief. Yet they scowled at each other like ancient enemies.

  Some of Audra’s nervousness about sharing the empty bunkhouse with Sigmar left her; at least their slaves would be present. The irony of being chaperoned by her young thrall wasn’t lost on her. “Kaptajn Sigmar will assign our place, Praxia,” she said. “He is the senior officer.”

  Sigmar smiled the crooked smile she had always loved and led the way into the lodging. “Lady Audra will take the alcove at one end,” he instructed, pointing to the far wall. “Praxia, your task is to find heavy fabric we can hang as curtains, for privacy,” he said, his face reddening. He fished in the pouch he wore at his waist and tossed her a few coins. The girl dropped her bundles and scrambled to retrieve them. She was gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Seems resourceful for one so young,” he remarked.

  Sophia grunted, standing amid the bundles she’d dropped. Sigmar eyed her with annoyance. “Unpack my things and put them in the far alcove,” he told her, pointing to the wall directly opposite to where he’d assigned Audra.

  Smiling, Sophia picked up the bundles.

  “Not yours,” Sigmar said. “You’ll stay in the women’s end, with Lady Audra and her thrall.”

  The smile left her bruised face. Pouting, she set about unpacking Sigmar’s furs.

  Audra wondered about the relationship between the man she was growing to love and the slave with the broken nose.

  “She was my father’s thrall,�
� he whispered. “Now she thinks to warm my bed.”

  The woman was at least twice Sigmar’s age, and a thrall to boot, yet an irrational surge of jealousy dulled Audra’s senses.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his blue eyes bright. “Only you, min lille en. Only you.”

  His words sent a thrill of anticipation arrowing into the core of her being and the flush that raced across her breasts surged into her face, but she moved away from him quickly when her father reappeared in the doorway.

  Sophia hissed, but Fingal ignored her.

  “You can’t stay here with him,” her father bellowed, pointing at Sigmar, who shook his head and turned away to his alcove.

  She was tempted to retort that she was a respected officer who would decide for herself where she would sleep, and how dare he scold her in front of a thrall. However, she had found over the years that he was more likely to respond to honey than harsh words. “The king has assigned me to this barracks,” she reminded him, keeping her voice low. “I have no choice, and there are two female slaves here. It’s no worse than in Kievan Rus.”

  Fingal harrumphed, but his hand went to the hilt of his sword when Sigmar approached. “You won’t need your weapon, old man,” he said menacingly. “Never forget I am a Jomsviking. I don’t take advantage of unwilling women.”

  Fingal spluttered, but Sigmar’s words seemed to have taken him by surprise. “What do you know of Jomsborg? You were but a lad when—”

  He glanced at Audra, seemingly unable to utter the rest of what he’d intended to say. Was there a glimmer of hope that he recognised Sigmar wasn’t to blame for the bloodshed?

  Sigmar frowned. “If it’s possible, my intention is to recruit Jomsvikings for this company, men and women I can rely on. There is a place for you if you wish it, Fingal Andreassen.”

  Audra gasped.

  Sophia wailed in protest.

  Her father stared at Sigmar, mouth agape.

  “I will allow you the rest of the day to consider.”

  Fingal spat into the dirt floor. “I don’t need time to decide. I will join your company, but do not think this means I trust you.”

  He turned on his heel and left.

  Sigmar sat on a crude wooden bench, gripping the edge. “Gone to get his golden swords, I expect,” he quipped.

  Smiling at his jest, Audra sat beside him, thigh to thigh, relishing his heat. “I don’t understand. Why did you choose him?”

  He took her hand. “Three reasons. One, I can keep an eye on him. Two, he’s a Jomsviking who has it in him to be the kind of warrior we need.”

  “And the third?” she asked, though she suspected she knew.

  “I thought it would please you,” he admitted with a crooked smile.

  Progress

  Sigmar was satisfied with the progress made over the course of the next fortnight. Canute hadn’t wanted any part in choosing the members of the company, assuring his newly appointed Kaptajn he had faith in his selections.

  Audra interviewed her comrades and recommended the inclusion of Gertruda and Vasha, the oldest member of the company who was apparently keen to join whereas the rest hesitated. According to Audra, the Russian never made any secret of her lack of interest in men and marriage. Indeed, at their first meeting, Sigmar thought she was a man.

  He selected seven huscarls, all trustworthy young men he’d known in the ranks. Two of them, Dagmar and Svein had accompanied him on the Ironside mission.

  Canute decided the company should be named The Dodeka, Greek for twelve, in honor of Hercules. It was a mite too apostolic for Sigmar’s taste, though he considered himself a Christian. No soldier in Canute’s service could be otherwise, though most still clung to their old Norse beliefs as well.

  When his thrall Nathan arrived, he had no further need of Sophia. He gave her to Gertruda who’d been obliged to relinquish her thrall in Constantinople. Sophia didn’t take the news with good grace, especially when she learned she was to serve Vasha as well as her new mistress. He resigned himself to having to learn how to braid his own hair.

  The bunkhouse was too small to accommodate everyone’s thralls, hence Nathan and Seslav were instructed to serve all the men when the troop was together. Surprisingly, Andreassen agreed to sharing his slave without hesitation.

  It was a relief that he’d made arrangements for his embellished weapons to be turned over to the care of the huscarls who guarded the King’s armory.

  Praxia procured sufficient heavy fabric to suspend a curtain across the center of the structure, with enough left over to provide privacy for the bunks of the three females. Sigmar openly praised the girl’s resourcefulness, especially when she handed him change from the coin he’d given her. Sophia’s sulking worsened as a result.

  A schedule was agreed upon for the use of the spring for bathing so that the women had privacy.

  All in all things had gone well, but being close to Audra almost all day and night without touching her was a torment. The more he watched her, the more convinced he became that she was his destiny. She had only to enter the bunkhouse to set his body alight. Other women had aroused him in the past, but his feelings for Audra went beyond lust. He craved her smile, her laughter, the scent of her when she returned from the waterfall, long hair wet and sleek. She took his breath away.

  Now he’d found her he had no intention of giving her up.

  But Andreassen was a constant watchful presence, scowling at him if he so much as looked at Audra. Sooner or later there’d be a confrontation.

  *

  Audra stood to attention at the end of the line as Sigmar slowly inspected the members of the company outside the bunkhouse. She was confident he would be content with what he saw. She’d made sure every tunic was immaculate, every sword and dagger polished, every boot clean, every male chin shaven and not a hair out of place. Her father had grumbled, complaining she was overly demanding, but even he looked splendid. She suspected he was determined to outshine the rest of the men who were half his age.

  “Our king has summoned us,” Sigmar told them at length. “We want his first impression of the new company to be beyond his expectations. There is much yet to be done. We will train hard together, but I am proud of what I see.”

  Audra’s spirits soared. The tension in her shoulders eased a little when Sigmar nodded to her. It was a barely perceptible movement that the others likely didn’t notice, but it elated her he recognised the part she’d played in preparing the company for the king’s inspection.

  They set off on the three mile march to Canute’s residence at a trot, Sigmar leading the way. She was grateful when he slowed the pace, apparently aware her father was having some difficulty, though he hadn’t turned around.

  The king had installed Elfgifu and their two sons in an old Roman villa. It appeared many of the outbuildings had collapsed, but the main house looked intact. Audra surmised from the extent of the place that the villa had once been a large farm.

  Sigmar called a halt. “We’ll catch our breath, then I’ll send word we’ve arrived,” he announced. He might easily have made a remark about her father being the only person panting hard, but he didn’t and she loved him for it.

  They all came to rigid attention again when Canute sauntered out a few minutes later. He slapped Sigmar on the back, then glanced briefly at the whole company. “Good,” he declared. “Kaptajn Sigmar and his Second will come inside. The rest dismissed.”

  To their credit there was no murmur of disappointment from the men and women who’d spent a great deal of time preparing for the king’s brief inspection. They remained at attention until Sigmar said, “Andreassen, take charge of dismissal.”

  She didn’t have a chance to see her father’s reaction. Sigmar took her arm and whisked her into the villa in Canute’s wake.

  They walked over a stunningly beautiful mosaic floor depicting a mystical-looking bird of some sort. She’d seen the same kind of thing in Kievan Rus.

  Canute led them into a cavernous r
oom decorated with what must have at one time been elaborate paintings, though much of the art had peeled. Several men sat round an enormous table. Her spirits fell when she instantly recognised Torkild den Høge. Sigmar’s grip on her arm tightened, leading her to believe he too wasn’t happy to see their old nemesis.

  Canute bade them sit in the two vacant places then sat in the heavy wooden chair at one end. “Lord Sigmar Alvarsen,” he intoned, “and Lady Audra Fingalsdatter, commanders of my personal bodyguard.”

  If Sigmar was surprised by the announcement he gave no sign of it. Perhaps he was privy to information she was unaware of.

  “Welcome,” Torkild said. “Good to see you both again. It’s been many years.”

  Not nearly long enough!

  “Erik of Hlathir,” the man to his right said gruffly.

  Audra didn’t recall hearing anything of him before.

  “Eadric Streona,” the last man said in a low, rumbling voice that sent prickles across her nape.

  This name she knew. It was a common jest that he was the only man who’d switched sides more often than Torkild, though he always maintained his changes of allegiance were ruses designed to throw Canute’s enemies into confusion.

  Canute evidently didn’t want these men to know the true purpose of the company. Perhaps he didn’t trust them completely.

  The king’s next announcement cast doubt on that notion. “We have discussed how best to govern England,” he said, stroking his beard. “Obviously I cannot be everywhere at once with my army, so I will concentrate my attention on the kingdom of Wessex here in the south.

  “Erik will govern Northumbria in my name, Torkild will control East Anglia, and Streona will continue to hold sway in Mercia.”

  Audra’s gut knotted. Why was she here among these powerful men the king held in such high regard he’d given vast stretches of his new realm over to them? The puzzled stares they sent her way seemed to indicate they wondered the same thing.

  “Now, Lord Sigmar, your opinion,” Canute said.