“Tell me of your brothers and sisters,” he said, truly interested.
“As you know,” she started. “I am the eldest. My sisters, Sangrida and Hilde, are only a few seasons younger than me—much like your sisters, they couldn’t be more different from each other, and constantly argue. Baldwyn, my only brother, is next. He’s the mischievous sort and very happy keeping company with women. Ebba never leaves my mother’s side. And now my mother is pregnant with her sixth child.”
“Do you favor your father or mother?”
“My father I think.” She stared across the stream. “He is fair and tall.”
Ivar ran his fingers through her hair, then lifted a long golden strand and sniffed it. It smelled as sweet as wild blossoms. “Sangrida and Hilde are Scandinavian names.”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “My grandmother named them.”
“Good names,” he said.
“Your sisters are opinionated,” she observed. “And very kind. I think Rakel and I could be great friends if given a chance. Syn is gentle natured and loves you the most, I think. She spoke of nothing else.”
Ivar chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ve overindulged both—given them too much freedom. I expect Rakel to marry soon, she needs the steady hand of a husband to keep her out of trouble.”
“You prefer to pick her future mate?”
“If I gave her the power to choose for herself, she’d select two or three husbands and invite them all to the altar at the same time. Rakel is easily distracted and loses interest in anything quickly.”
Mauriana graced him with a warm smile. “Girls in my village are fortunate. We are allowed to fall in love before we marry.”
Ivar’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “A dangerous practice.”
“Is it?”
“How many children are conceived out of wedlock?”
“Does it matter?” she asked. “Once a couple is betrothed, there is no shame in them bedding each other. Their children are conceived out of love and devotion.”
Ivar growled, disliking the idea. “Tis no surprise the Christians have descended upon your lands. Your kinsmen are in desperate need of morals.”
She frowned. “I’m surprised by your disapproval, milord. From what I’ve heard, Norsemen are free to have several wives.”
He fingered his beard, shocked by her words. “Who told you such a thing?”
“Your mother.”
Ivar closed his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. When he asked Idona to make Mauriana feel welcome, he never expected her to share such nonsense. Women. Opening his eyes again, he found Mauriana staring at him. “Few men are brave enough to risk their ballocks and lives on such an arrangement.” And he cared little about what other men did.
“Are you?”
“Once I exchange wedding vows with a woman, I will never stray from our bed.”
Color flooded Mauriana’s cheeks. “But not before,” she whispered.
“You take everything I say as if spoken to hurt you, Mauriana.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. The feel and taste of her soft skin incited more than just the instinct to protect her, he’d been fighting dark emotions for days—chaotic ones that demanded he bed her now and worry about the consequences later.
He also recognized the flaring fire behind her eyes, which told him she wanted to be touched and kissed just as much as he did.
“I told you before I would never harm you—not intentionally,” he reminded her.
“Jarl Ivar,” she said. “I believe you. You’ve proven yourself to be kind and understanding, even though I find it difficult to forget and even harder to forgive you for deceiving me before we left Germania. But even if I did, my heart would never be completely invested in anything on this side of the North Sea. My family, my beloved home, everything I hold dear is in another place. So how can I ever accept you?”
“Sweetest, Mauriana…” He sighed, his manhood pulsing with need. Her words only deepened his agony. Whether she realized it or not, she’d answered questions he’d never gotten the chance to ask yet. “What are you trying to say? That choosing between me and your home is impossible?”
The fire in her eyes burned brighter than ever before. “You see things I don’t, milord.”
“Do I?” He positioned himself on his knees in front of her. “Although our time together has been short, remember who comforted you on Bodvar’s ship? Did I not hold your hair aside while you threw up? Rubbed your shoulders until you fell asleep? Brought you water, mead, and bread to ease the pains in your stomach? Watched over you?”
“Aye,” she said. “But all these things were done by a man I thought to be someone else.”
“I am the same man,” he insisted.
She shook her head vigorously. “You are a jarl. I am a peasant.”
He tipped her chin upward. “You are a woman. I am a man. And out here, in Allfather’s holy place, we are equals. The gods do not differentiate between high and low birth. A man’s deeds are the same whether he carries a title or is a slave.”
“Not in Hesse.”
“We are in Norway,” he said gently. “A new place requires deeper understanding from you. Trust the gods, Mauriana, they will see things set right.” Obviously, she had no idea that the scroll she carried across the sea with her contained crucial information about her family. Not being the time or place to reveal her connection to the Sigurdssons, all he could do is try to convince her that her future would be better than she ever imagined.
She cocked her head, studying him. “I wish I possessed half the hope and faith you do. If I did, perhaps I could trust in the gods more. But I must face the harsh realities before me. My family is gone. I am here. And you bought me from a slave market.” She stood then, wiping dry grass and leaves from her bottom. “I’d like to return to my chamber.”
“Aye.” He’d not refuse her.
After Ivar parted ways with Mauriana, he summoned his mother to the great hall.
“Did your morning walk with Mauriana yield anything fruitful?” she asked.
Ivar grimaced. “If you consider finding new reasons for the girl not to accept me fruitful, then yes, Mother.”
Idona gave him a sad smile. “You love her?”
He believed he loved her the minute Bodvar dragged her onto his ship. No woman had ever looked so fierce and defenseless at the same time. No woman in his meeting had ever held her sorrow back and smiled so freely when he knew her heart was breaking. Just as she did now. Her silent strength drew him like a moth to flame. As did her beauty and wit. Sigurdsson blood flowed freely in her veins. His sons would share her lineage. That’s what Ivar desired above all things, to take Mauriana to his bed and fuck her until she confessed her deepest feelings. Then he’d make love to her day and night until she conceived their first born.
“Aye,’ he admitted. “I want her as my wife.”
Idona nodded. “Then you shall have her.”
Chapter Eleven
A week later, Ivar waited impatiently for Mauriana to arrive at the feast secretly planned in her honor. His mother had taken care of everything, even visited the Sigurdssons on an overnight trip. Within hours of her departure, she sent a messenger home explaining how enthusiastically the news of Mauriana’s existence had been received. Not only would they welcome her, Jarl Rurik would attend the feast.
Tonight, the girl he loved would see that Odin favored her. The sorrow she tried so hard to hide would soon disappear, because she’d never be alone again. Even if she refused to stay with Ivar, he’d celebrate, because Allfather had blessed him with the privilege of meeting Mauriana—of loving her.
He paced the length of the great hall, stopping for the third time to inspect the high table. The dais had been expanded to accommodate two more trestle tables so the Sigurdssons could sit with his family. In all, sixty guests were expected. Though not the largest crowd he’d ever fed, this eventide had purpose, likely more important than any other night in Ivar’s life.
A risk he was willing to take to prove she was a freewoman. But the fact he’d paid gold for her at the slave market remained a point of contention between them. So much so, she came to him with the only coins she possessed and offered them as the first payment of many to buy her freedom. That memory was locked inside his mind forever. Proud Mauriana—the brave and beautiful maiden from an insignificant village in Hesse. A daughter of the forest, who along with her people, valiantly guarded Thor’s holy oak.
“Ivar?” His mother’s voice broke his thoughts.
“Mother,” he greeted. “You look lovely.”
Dressed in her best emerald-colored gown, Idona still looked every part the jarl’s wife. “Your sisters will bring Mauriana out once our guests are settled.”
As Mauriana had predicted, she and Rakel had become inseparable. “I am pleased my sisters like her so much.”
“We all do,” his mother said. “She is not the ugly, stupid girl I hoped you would choose.”
Ivar grinned. “No, she’s not.”
“There’s something magical about her, my son. Her beauty shines from within, something more priceless than most men recognize. For nothing condemns a man to a loveless marriage more than a vain girl. It seems our Mauriana knows nothing of her physical appeal.”
Ivar hoped to spend the rest of his life praising her. “Aye.”
“Milord…”
Ivar turned to find one of his captains.
“Jarl Rurik and his family have arrived.”
Together with his mother and brothers, Ivar greeted the Sigurdssons at the entrance to the hall.
“You are welcome in my home, Jarl Rurik,” Ivar said.
“It has been too long,” his ally said, embracing him. “We are neighbors and now have more reasons to renew our alliance.”
“Aye.”
Ivar greeted the jarl’s wife and three sons then, escorting them to the high table where they took their seats of honor. Once everyone was in place, Ivar signaled to one of his captains to bring his sisters and Mauriana out.
As glorious as the sun set against a cloudless sky, Mauriana entered the hall clad in a sky blue dress, her golden hair cascading down her back, braided on the sides. Adorned with a necklace of silver and amber with matching earrings, she took his breath away. He gripped his cup, then drank deeply, the most potent of his mead reserved for such occasions. A mere girl from the woods had captured his heart.
Rurik leaned close. “This is the girl?”
“Aye.”
“She is more than I expected,” he said, eyes filled with admiration. “She reminds me of my grandmother—there is no mistaking her lineage. Thank you for bringing her home, Jarl Ivar.”
As Mauriana slipped into her chair a few places away from Ivar, she smiled at him. He returned it, his body on fire, and his heart aching for more time alone with her. Patience had never been one of his best traits, until he met Mauriana.
Once the hall settled down, Ivar stood. “Tonight we welcome old friends and new.” He acknowledged Rurik first, then eyed Mauriana. “A few weeks ago I spoke to a young woman I just met about the power of wyrd. Although a devoted worshipper of Allfather, sorrow and pain had consumed her after she was wrongly separated from her family and brought to the Trondelag.” Again his gaze drifted to his golden-haired girl, her eyes wide with uncertainty.
Ivar continued. “Proud and brave, she accepted her captivity with dignity, never wavering from her belief that one day she’d find her freedom. All of us gathered in this room know the reputation of my illustrious cousin, Jarl Bodvar. Accomplished as he is, he’s often blinded by greed. And that’s what happened when he met Mauriana in Hesse. Preying upon her innocence, he convinced her to leave home, telling her she’d die if she didn’t.”
Murmurs rose amongst his guests.
“Who are we to question in what ways the gods use us to fulfill the destinies of men?”
“Aye,” Rurik raised his cup in approval.
“When we anchored, I asked my cousin if he would keep Mauriana safe. I trusted him…”
“The girl’s fate has nothing to do with you!”
The crowd turned toward the front of the great hall, where Jarl Bodvar stood with a retinue of armed men.
Ivar’s guards were holding his kinsman back, but he waved them away. “Step into my hall with care, Cousin. You aren’t amongst friends this night.”
Bodvar advanced, his gaze quickly assessing the crowd. “Jarl Sigurdsson? Idona? Jarl Lennart? What occasion is this? Do you gather to make plans to attack me?”
Ivar’s dark laughter filed the hall. “Your guilty conscience is only further proof of your treachery.”
“Treachery?” Bodvar repeated. “You are the one who interfered with my business. Who gave you the authority to steal that girl from the market?” He stared at Mauriana. “She doesn’t belong at your high table, she’s meant to be a bed slave.”
Mauriana’s mouth opened, but instead of saying anything, her shoulders sagged and her cheeks flushed. Rage filled Ivar’s heart, but before he could react, Jarl Rurik shot up.
“You dare offend me and my kinswoman?” His hand rested on his sword. “Slander her again and see how quickly you end up on your back—bleeding and close to death.”
Jarl Rurik possessed more wealth, lands, and men then Ivar and Bodvar combined.
“And if Rurik’s sword doesn’t kill you, I’ll cut out your filthy tongue and feed it to the ravens,” Ivar stepped down from the dais, headed for his cousin. “In this hall, and hereafter across the Trondelag, Mauriana will be recognized as the lady she is. Though born in Hesse, her grandmother, Kora, was the third wife to the famed Haakon Sigurdsson, first cousin to Rurik’s father. I warn you to choose your next words wisely, Cousin.”
Silence fell across the hall.
Though Ivar hadn’t wanted to reveal Mauriana’s lineage so abruptly, Bodvar’s intrusion had left him with little choice. He gazed at her, hoping she could weather this small storm. If he had his way, she’d be in his arms now, where he could hold and comfort her properly.
Bodvar laughed. “What lies do you speak in order to protect the wench and yourself? Admit it, from the moment I brought her on my ship, you lusted after her. This isn’t about honor and family, but finding any excuse to get that girl in your bed.”
Standing in front of his cousin now, Ivar found it impossible to contain his anger. He backhanded Bodvar, the loud crack of the blow causing his guests to gasp in surprise. “Never insult her again.”
Striking anyone in public was considered the gravest of insults.
Bodvar’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll live to regret that,” he said.
“The only thing I regret is ever calling you friend.”
Bodvar shook his head and retreated a step.
“Mother,” Ivar called over his shoulder. “Bring the scroll.”
Minutes later, Idona presented the scroll Mauriana brought with her from Hesse. Ivar handled it like it was the most delicate thing in the world. “Stand down, Jarl Bodvar, and I will present you with the proof you require to believe my claim.”
Bodvar’s posture relaxed some, but his face retained the expression of humiliation and anger Ivar knew he felt. There was nothing to be done about it now. He’d insulted his kinsman publicly on more than one occasion. And if he knew Bodvar at all, there would be consequences. When, he couldn’t guess, because his cousin often struck a man’s heel like a viper.
“Mauriana, please join me.” Ivar turned to her.
Her nervous gaze darted about the room, but his mother wh
ispered something in her ear and she seemed to regain some confidence. She stood slowly, her grace and beauty on full display. She walked around the table, finally joining him on the floor.
“Do you recognize this scroll?” he asked.
Still partially wrapped in the fur he found it in, her face lit up. “I-I didn’t realize it was gone. But yes, tis the treasure my mother always warned me to safeguard if ever we were separated.”
Ivar nodded, then handed the scrap of fur to a nearby thrall. He carefully opened the scroll. “Can you read what’s written on the paper?”
“No,” she admitted. “Though I speak your language well enough, I cannot read it.”
The ease with which she admitted her shortcomings was another reason he loved and admired her. “Do I have your permission to read it aloud, in front of my esteemed guests?”
“Aye.”
“Have faith,” he whispered to her, then began to relay the story of her grandmother’s life.
By the time he finished, the story had struck the hearts of everyone in the room—much like a song sung by the most gifted skald. Especially Mauriana’s, her eyes were wet with tears, her hands cupped over her mouth.
Ivar’s heart nearly burst with compassion as he handed off the scroll, then claimed Mauriana’s hand. “Fear not, sweetest Mauriana. Did I not tell you to trust in the gods? Today you are united with your family.” He led her to the high table, both standing before Jarl Rurik. “I give you Mauriana, my friend. The woman who has won my respect and my heart.”
Rurik smiled, then bowed his head in reverence. “Not even the North Sea could keep us apart, fair lady. And if Jarl Ivar and I have anything to say about it, it shall not keep the rest of your family away for long either.”
Mauriana looked to Ivar. “Sir?”
Sirens of the Northern Seas: A Viking Romance Collection Page 25