The Viking’s Captive Princess

by Michelle Styles

  She took one last look at the kitchen and the way the cats lay sleeping by the fire, and the pot spluttering on the fire. Everything was normal and peaceful and it would be the same when she returned.

  ‘It will work out. It has to. Keep your head up and your gaze direct.’

  Ivar stood, the hot sun beating against his back, struggling to maintain control of his anger. This had already taken far longer than he had dreamt possible. Ragnfast had offered several more excuses on why his daughter failed to appear until he had demanded that the Ranrike jaarl fetch his daughter.

  The tide lapped against the Sea Witch. All his men were ranged behind him, waiting for his signal. He would discover the truth, and he would make the woman pay for her deception. Did she really think she could trick him like that?

  ‘Forgive me, my lord. It took longer to discover my daughter than I thought possible. But she is here now along with the rest of the women.’ Sweat stood out on the farmer’s brow and greed shone from his eyes. ‘You do my household and me great honour.’

  Ivar released a breath as he saw the women. Most were in their light summer apron dresses with head kerchiefs, but two—the daughter and Thyre—were swathed in shawls.

  Ivar forced his hand to remain at his side. The time to play the final round had begun and this time they played by his rules.

  ‘Your hospitality has been a revelation, truly a milestone in the relations between Ranrike and Viken.’ Ivar watched him intently.

  How much was Ragnfast party to? And what exactly did he hope to gain by the deception? Did Ragnfast think that he was so blind in lust that he would not notice the insult?

  ‘I wish to reward those who give such unsurpassed hospitality.’

  ‘You are too kind, Ivar Gunnarson.’

  Ivar signalled towards Erik the Black, who brought forwards a few of the spices from Permia. Ragnfast made a low bow and murmured his thanks.

  ‘And for your daughter, a length of silk.’

  Ivar paused, enjoying himself as the blonde simpered forwards and clutched the silk to her breast. But she never let the shawl slip from around her neck. This little scene was playing out better than he had envisioned. Revenge would be sweet. He would keep his temper, but he would make his offer.

  ‘And for the woman who shared my bed…’ He held up a golden arm ring studded with jewels, worth more than most warriors would ever possess. He allowed it to glint for a moment in the sunlight.

  The blonde hesitated; her eyes grew round. Her fingers twitched. She glanced back over her shoulder at Thyre, who gave an encouraging nod. Ivar raised the arm ring a little higher and waited, keeping all his attention on the woman in the background. When would her greed overcome her sensibilities?

  ‘Thyre?’ A single damning word wafted on the wind. ‘Help me! My oath!’

  Thyre wet her lips and silently urged Dagmar to take the arm ring and to end this farce. Explanations to Sven could happen later. Right now, the Viken had to be appeased. No Ranriken boats appeared on the horizon, coming to save her. In the distance she heard the water slapping against the hull of the Viken.

  Why was Dagmar taking so long to take the gift?

  It could not be difficult. One tiny action, that was all and the Viken would go. She willed Dagmar to reach out and end this little drama. Pick it up, she mouthed. But Dagmar appeared to be turned to stone.

  ‘I believe my daughter shared your bed. I gave her specific orders. My daughter never disobeys me. She accepts my guidance in these matters.’ Ragnfast’s eyes glittered with greed at the magnificence of the arm ring.

  ‘It was your stepdaughter who shared my bed,’ Ivar replied, his deep blue gaze directly on her. His features became harder, his scar more pronounced.

  Thyre kept her head and did not flinch or blush under his intense stare, even though her fingers itched to guide Dagmar’s hand to the ring to end the ordeal.

  Ragnfast went white and then red. ‘I gave specific orders to Dagmar. Why would you believe she would disobey me?’

  ‘I marked my bed companion with my mouth,’ Ivar said with an arrogant smile. ‘Your daughter’s throat remains free from any blemish.’

  ‘You are guessing, Viken.’ Ragnfast gave a scornful laugh. ‘My daughter is swathed in a shawl, presumably because you did mark her. Reveal your neck, Dagmar, and show this Viken to be a liar.’

  Dagmar threw her a panicked glance as Thyre’s stomach lurched. The full horror slammed into her. He knew. He had known all along. He had played her and Dagmar for fools this morning, toying with them like a cat with its prey. And now they were trapped. Dagmar had to obey her father. She had to reveal her unblemished neck. But what happened then?

  They should have hidden in the bath house until Ivar and the other Viken departed. She should have done a dozen other things except stand here on the sand, listening to the steady pounding of the waves and feeling the dampness creep into her boots. This entire situation was her fault.

  All she could do was watch, powerless to stop the drama and the destruction that must surely follow.

  Why had she ever thought that she could deceive this man? The idea was hers and hers alone. No one else should be punished, but he would use it as an excuse to destroy them all. She could sense it in her bones. She wanted to grab a sword and call the men to her banner. She wanted to turn back time. But most of all she wanted the horror of waiting to end.

  ‘Dagmar, obey your father. Show this arrogant Viken the truth.’ Ragnfast reached for Dagmar’s shawl. ‘You have abused my hospitality, Viken. You are no longer welcome here.’

  ‘It is not I who abused it, but the daughters of this house.’

  ‘I will obey you, Far.’ Fingers trembling and white faced, Dagmar allowed the shawl to fall to the ground, but she kept her head erect and shoulders back. A surge of pride rushed through Thyre. Dagmar could have given way to hysterics and run, but she stood proud and elegant. Her slender neck was revealed to all. Thyre had never been prouder of her half-sister. She only hoped that she could display the same sort of courage when her time came.

  ‘Free from blemish.’ Ivar made a sweeping bow. ‘She is not the woman with whom I shared my bed. The arm ring remains unclaimed.’

  ‘What sort of mischief is this? What sort of spell have you cast to have my daughter’s neck clear?’

  ‘No mischief. Nothing supernatural. Another woman waited for me in the bed. A woman who filled the night with passion.’

  ‘And who might that woman be?’

  ‘Your stepdaughter, Thyre.’

  ‘Thyre? Have you been touched by moon madness? Thyre did not share your bed. She has not shared any man’s bed. I would stake my life on it. She is far too proud, far too like her mother. I explained about the betrothal and why she must keep herself pure. It is her best chance for marriage.’ Ragnfast made a disgusted noise. ‘We will find the woman who shared your bed, Viken, and when I do, I will reach the truth of this puzzle. Show him your neck, Thyre. Show him that he lies.’

  ‘If that is your wish, Ragnfast.’

  ‘It is.’

  Thyre took several steps forwards so that she was level with her stepfather. Her earlier nerves vanished and a queer calm descended.

  The shawl floated to the earth with a soft whisper. She forced her shoulders to stay erect, and prayed fervently that some god would hear her prayer—that somehow the mark would have vanished.

  Ragnfast’s hissed intake of breath showed that her prayer went unanswered. He clawed at his chest for an instant before recovering and glaring at her and Ivar. ‘You disobeyed me, Thyre!’

  ‘I marked the right woman, but you may examine all your other women, if you wish.’

  ‘What sort of dark magic is this? What sort of spell has this Viken jaarl cast?’

  Thyre opened her mouth, but her voice refused to work.

  ‘No magic or spells,’ the Viken commented in a dry voice. ‘She seduced me, rather than the other way around. Then she slipped out of my bed and your daug
hter thought to get in it, pretending to be the one who had passed the night with me.’

  ‘Do you deny this, Thyre?’ Ragnfast asked. ‘Is it what happened?’

  ‘The Viken jaarl speaks the truth.’ Thyre kept her head up. Her body seemed to have gone numb.

  ‘Dagmar would never have disobeyed me like this. This is your doing, Thyre. This is the last time your will is followed on this steading.’ Ragnfast’s brows drew together and he raised his fist as if to strike her. ‘The sooner you are gone, the better for all of us.’

  ‘No one touches her. She bears my mark. I claim her as my woman.’ Ivar’s voice rang out as he caught Ragnfast’s wrist and held it for an instant, then let go. Ragnfast’s hand remained frozen in mid-air. Then, very slowly, Ragnfast lowered it and appeared to shrink.

  ‘Dagmar had a knife, Ragnfast. She is in love with Sven the forester.’ Thyre kept her voice steady and calm. Ragnfast could understand love. He had braved the Viken to rescue her mother, when her mother’s brother had been content to see her rot.

  ‘Dagmar and Sven? Sven the forester?’ Ragnfast did not bother to hide the incredulity in his voice. ‘My daughter would never—’

  ‘Yes, Far, Thyre speaks true.’ Dagmar stepped between Thyre and Ragnfast. Her chin was held high and proud. Faced with the evidence, Dagmar had not given way to the easy lie; she had told the truth even though Ragnfast was likely to forbid Dagmar ever to seek out Sven again. After today, the future Dagmar and Sven had carefully planned would be shattered.

  ‘You love that…that forester?’

  ‘Sven and I swore an oath in front of Var.’ Dagmar kept her eyes on the ground and her voice was barely audible. ‘Last night I despaired and would have taken my life but for Thyre and her plan.’

  At Dagmar’s faltering glance, Thyre put her arm about Dagmar. She had protected Dagmar ever since she had been born. She would protect Dagmar now. Somehow she would make Ragnfast see sense. He wanted a living and breathing daughter, not another corpse in the graveyard.

  ‘You brought this on yourself, Ragnfast,’ Thyre said, looking sternly at her stepfather. ‘You should never have insisted. I acted in the only way I could save Dagmar’s life.’

  Ragnfast bowed his head. ‘You did mark your bed companion, Viken. Give her the arm ring. Let us be done with this sham. No dishonour to you was intended, as you can see. I will deal with this mess later. Thyre, you will be for ever soiled by this affair.’

  Thyre squeezed Dagmar’s shoulders and risked a breath. They had weathered the storm. All would be well now. Ragnfast knew. Dagmar and Sven would find a measure of happiness. Some good would come of the Viken’s visit after all. Thyre gave the arrogant man a haughty nod. Did he know the trouble he had caused?

  ‘I have changed my mind.’ Ivar placed the ring back on his arm.

  ‘Changed your mind?’ Thyre exclaimed as her mind raced. What new treachery did this man have planned? He was worse than Loki for twisting words and situations to suit his purpose? Where was the trap? ‘You offered the arm ring to your bed companion. We have agreed I was the woman in your bed. You may give it to me and be on your way.’

  ‘Explain yourself, Viken,’ Ragnfast growled, his hand going to his sword.

  ‘Ragnfast offered me his life if I was proven right, but it is not much use to me. However, I do want something, something you will give me willingly or else I shall take it.’

  Thyre’s glance flicked between the two men and knew it would be an unequal contest.

  ‘For Thor’s sake, he is an old man. He last fought…’ The words were torn from Thyre’s throat as she started forwards, then checked herself. The Viken wanted the excuse. He wanted to enslave or kill every man. It had been a trap and she had walked into it. She had handed him the farm on a silver platter. Her stomach clenched. No man should die for her. She had to believe that Ivar had no idea of her parentage, of who her mother was, and therefore who her father had to be. No, this was Viken arrogance in the extreme. His pride was irked. She refused to let others die for her mistake. Ragnfast would not fight. ‘…before I was born. Have pity on us.’

  The Viken merely lifted his brow and his lips thinned. ‘You have a better idea?’

  ‘He had nothing to do with last night.’ Thyre’s fists balled at her sides. This was between her and the Viken. She would protect Ragnfast and this estate. It was her duty. ‘You will not use this as an excuse to take this land and to plunder this farm. Your quarrel is with me and me alone.’

  Ivar’s insolent gaze raked her form, burning through her clothes. Against her will, the memory of what it was like to lie wrapped in his arms welled up inside her. Angrily she damped it down, but not before a knowing gleam appeared in his eyes. ‘I did not hear you complaining last night. What passed between us was your suggestion.’

  ‘That was different. And it ended this morning.’

  ‘We are far from finished, you and I.’

  The back of her neck prickled a warning. She took a half-step backwards, but his hand shot out, clamping around her waist and pulling her forwards. His thigh hit her hip. Ruthlessly he lowered his mouth. Thyre intended on being a statue, but his tongue delicately traced the outline of her mouth, calling to a deep well inside her. It was far from punishing, but persuasive and seductive. Without her realising it, her hands came up and buried themselves in his hair. She opened her mouth, wanting the warmth to continue.

  Abruptly he let her go. Her mouth ached. He ran a finger down the side of her face and neck, stopped at the mark. ‘Mine.’

  ‘A kiss proves nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Your words war with your body. Which one should I trust?’

  ‘Will you answer the challenge?’ Ragnfast thundered.

  ‘I will take this woman with me instead of your life, Ragnfast. You were going to marry her against her will in any case. It will be one less mouth for you to feed.’ Ivar looked her up and down. ‘It will be my payment, unless you wish to spill blood over it?’

  ‘Take her with you?’ Dagmar gasped as the crowd murmured behind her.

  Thyre’s throat refused to work. This was a disaster. This was not supposed to happen.

  ‘You said that she is without value and the man you wished to betroth her to would not accept someone soiled by a Viken.’ His lips curled around the word ‘soiled’ and spat it out. ‘How can I condemn her to death for lying? I am doing you a favour.’

  ‘You understand nothing, Viken—’Thyre began, but he ignored her.

  ‘Which will it be, Ragnfast the Steadfast? Your life or your stepdaughter, the penniless orphan you took in?’

  Images of blood-soaked sand rose before Thyre’s eyes. How could she ask anyone, least of all Ragnfast, to die for her? Ragnfast kept this bay safe. People depended on him. Once he was dead, there would be nothing to stop the Viken just taking whatever they pleased. She had a chance to stop the blood before it began. This was her responsibility. She had a duty to all who lived here. Besides that her freedom meant nothing.

  Thyre knew that the choice meant a death to her dreams. They were dust beneath her feet. She would never meet that gentle warrior who would cherish her and protect her. She would never experience love as an equal to her mate and she would never see her home again. But to keep safe everyone and everything she held dear, she had to do it.

  ‘I will go with the Viken, Ragnfast,’ Thyre said, her voice echoing over the harbour. ‘It is the only way. I refuse to have blood on my hands. But please, Ivar Gunnarson, give me a moment to speak to my stepfather. Things need to be said.’

  It was a little enough request. Ivar Gunnarson had to agree with it.

  At first he did not move, but stood there with his hands flexing as if he struggled to maintain control. Then, just when she had given up hope, she saw a glint in his eye. ‘Very well, if you must.’

  Thyre led Ragnfast a little way away from Ivar. They did not have much time, and he would have to understand that this was the best way, far better than marrying her off
to an elderly man.

  ‘The Viken are far from trustworthy.’ Ragnfast gripped her arms and his face became intent. ‘What will you do when he discards you? You should have a choice. Remember who you are, who your mother was—the Ranriken Swan Princess. She did not intend for you to become a Viken’s concubine. If I were a younger man, I would have fought him for his impudence, but my sword arm is weak.’

  ‘My mother died a long time ago. There are few who remember her story. They will not think me the Swan Princess’s daughter. King Thorkell will not question. You acknowledged me. No one will use me to try for the Ranriken throne. I will not permit it. The safety of this estate must come before all things. I have a duty.’

  ‘You are so very like your mother.’

  Thyre put her hand on Ragnfast’s shoulder, and he loosened his grip on her arms. Behind him the farm hands and foresters stood. She knew their wives, their children. If they fought they would die and the outcome would remain the same. But it did not mean she would not miss them. She scanned the crowd, trying to memorise faces. She would hold them in her heart until her dying breath. She turned towards the hills for one last look at her home and saw the faintest curl of smoke. The bonfire still burnt! Her heart leapt.

  ‘I lit the bonfire and Sigmund should arrive soon,’ Thyre said. ‘You send him after me. It is what the system of beacons was for.’

  ‘You did what?’ Ragnfast stared at her. Sweat gathered on his brow.

  ‘I worried that we would need help to get the Viken to leave.’ She leant forwards and kissed his cheek. Ragnfast should be pleased. ‘Sigmund explained it, in case you were ever ill and I needed assistance.’

  ‘Woman, you have destroyed us all. Sigmund will use this opportunity to finally crush me and to take this bay. He will say that I sent you to the Viken king to make a new alliance.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Thyre said with a faint sense of unease. She had done the right thing by lighting the bonfire. Her mother would have done the same thing. ‘He is an honourable warrior. He will want to right the wrong.’