The jarl was a bit too interested in Elfwynn. Every sense came alive, as though he faced an enemy in battle. It wouldn’t be wise to kill a neighboring jarl. Especially not with most of his men in the hall. It would be a blood bath. Rorik smiled as he chewed the beef, though it had turned to leather in his mouth. He had to handle this without causing a diplomatic incident. Or death. Thorir’s death, preferably.
He would be angry over such disrespectful talk about any woman. It wasn’t only because it was about Elfwynn. Of course.
“It’s well known I don’t deal in women. I love them too well. Her father owes me money, so she remains here until he pays me.” Not entirely true, but his mind was turning red at the thought of Thorir with her. That was never good. Why he felt this way was not important right now. He had to calm down.
“So you take her against her will and make her stay here. I’d say that’s a captive. Or a slave.”
“I’m not selling her to just anyone with the money. I’m returning her to her people eventually. Once I get paid what’s owed me.” That wasn’t a lie. Christians were her people. And if they continued this feasting in the coming days, he’d have to go to Hedeby sooner than he thought to replenish his wine stores. It was imported from the Rhineland and he could only get it in Hedeby or from Dorestad in Frisia. He always insisted on sampling the wine first, trusting no one else to buy it for him. Dorestad was near the Rhineland, so the prices would be lower, but he had a shipload of cargo to take to Hedeby. It was closer and the trading there would make the trip worthwhile financially. He’d promised Elfwynn that when he went there, he would take her.
The stab of longing startled him. As though he missed her already, which was ridiculous. He never missed a woman. If a certain one was not available, he asked another to join him. Each one brought his body different pleasures.
Elfwynn might not bring pleasure to his body, but she pleased him with her mind. Their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as any sword training. Her quick wit and sharp word jabs were exercise for his thoughts and he’d found himself missing that while he’d been gone. It was interesting, but no doubt her sharp attitude would become tiresome eventually.
He smiled to himself at that thought. “Besides, Thorir, I wouldn’t foist her on anyone I counted as a friend. She’s beautiful, yes, but acerbic. Her tongue is sharper than any sword and she’ll slice you to ribbons with it. I don’t gag her because I’ll be rid of her soon enough, though it has crossed my mind more than once. I put her in a house down the road and that’s still too close for me. I value our alliance and friendship too well to risk selling her to you. In revenge, you’d attack me and decimate my lands in very short order.”
“I’ll take your warning to heart, then.” He raised his cup to Rorik. “Besides, I’m not looking for a slave or concubine. I’m searching for a wife, a sweet one. Mine died of the fever two years ago. I loved her well, though she never gave me children. But now I must think of my legacy and find a woman I can get on well with. I hear you have two sisters.”
At least Thorir was backing off of his interest in Elfwynn. He was an honorable man and would make a fine husband, but neither of his sisters would make good wives. “I doubt that would be wise and for much the same reasons. You saw my sister, Kaia, when she served us the horns of wine. She’s a shieldmaiden and won’t surrender to any man willingly, for she’s chosen not the couch but the kill. The only man she’ll consider is the one who can best her in a fight. So far, no one has. Kaia would be far from the sweet wife you want.”
“I can see that. She’s very beautiful, but a shieldmaiden? They’re said to be quite vicious.”
“They are. Five others fight for me along with Kaia and I can attest to that. Of all the women I’ve been with, I’ve been with none of them. I’d want them beside me in battle, but not in bed.”
“What of your other sister?”
“Ellisif. She’s a wise woman of the forest.”
Thorir turned to him. “I’ve heard of them, but have never seen one. Does she truly run with wolves?”
He grimaced. “She has two of them. Freki and Geri, named after Odin’s wolves. Raised them from pups after the Wanderer she knows found the mother dead. She has a stunning, brilliant mind, but lives alone in the woods. I built her a house there under the condition she lives in it, not in a cave with the animals, and that she comes back to Vargfjell during the winters. I don’t want her out there during the snows. She’s an excellent hunter. When she encounters my huntsmen in the mountains to replenish our meat, she joins in. You may meet her yet, but she’s very reclusive. Again, not what you’re looking for.”
“You have an interesting family.” He took a drink.
Thorir didn’t know the half of it. Rorik sighed as he toyed with the remains of his dinner. Few people knew why he and his sisters were . . . interesting. He couldn’t press either of them into marriage for the same reason he couldn’t wed. They understood each other all too well, the darkness of their shared past forming a shield wall around them few others ever breached.
He waited as long as was polite, then, with a grin, excused himself to go outside. Thorir was listening to Leif, the gods help him, and seemed to be enjoying the tall—and probably untrue—tale he was telling.
He headed down the road toward Oslafa’s house. Perhaps he could find out if he had anything to worry about between Elfwynn and Turold. Though it was midevening, there was still enough light for him to see she was alone, sitting on a bench with her eyes closed. At first it appeared she was sleeping, but as he drew nearer, she opened them and watched him.
He sat beside her. Neither of them spoke. The quiet of the night was calming and he relaxed back against the wall in the same way she did. As he breathed in her scent of flowers and warm breezes, all the tension drained out of him. Did she do this to him? Or was he simply tired at the end of a very long day?
Whenever he was around others, he was required to be the lord, the hardened raider, or the cunning merchant. With his women, he had to be the consummate lover, tireless and uninhibited. He couldn’t let down his shield for a moment, lest others see it as weakness and take advantage of him. But now, here with her, he could simply be. And again, it was a new experience.
If only he could bring her a smile, something to make her happy as he did all other women, it would please him even more. For her, there was only one way to do that.
“I’ll have to go to Hedeby sooner than I thought. Within a few weeks.”
“Oh?” She didn’t move.
Though the words stuck in his throat, he spoke them. “I haven’t forgotten our agreement. I’ll take you with me. First I have to make certain the situation here is stable, then I can leave for a short time. As I told you, I always honor my word.”
She sighed. “So you did. Thank you.”
The question burned in him, to see what she would answer. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.
“I saw Turold escort you out. The feast had hardly begun and yet you left with him. Why?”
She hesitated, twisting the ends of the tablet-worked belt she wore. “I didn’t feel well. He offered to walk me here since there were so many other warriors about. I don’t know where he went after that.”
She wasn’t telling the truth. Christians believed they would burn after death if they lied. Because of that, many of them were terrible at it. Including her.
Why was he pursuing this? It was only going to anger her. It was as though, deep inside, he didn’t feel he deserved the peace she’d just brought him. The questions continued to come, like prodding an aching tooth.
“Are you interested in him?”
She straightened and glared at him. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“I believe it is. Your purity is important, according to your church, which means you’re worth more to me if you’re untouched.”
“How do you know I’m untouched?”
“There’s always a way to find out.” At the look of pan
ic she gave him, he softened and brushed her arm with his fingers. “I only meant there are women who can find out these things. But I don’t need them. You’re a virgin. With as much experience as I have with women, I know.”
“I would think the only experience you have is with those who aren’t pure.”
“And how better to tell the ones who are? You needn’t worry. I avoid virgins. Why ride an unbroken mare who doesn’t know what you want, when you can enjoy one who knows how to respond to your slightest command?”
She stood, blushing. “And you have quite the stable of them. So I suggest you go back to the barn and choose the one you want to ride for the night.” She rushed into the house, slamming the door behind her.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. As stimulating as his verbal wars with her were, the brief moment of peace before was even more enticing. And yet, he’d sabotaged it, goading her into a confrontation. Didn’t he deserve to rest? He had lights and laughter, feasts and riches. It was all fleeting, so very fleeting. Didn’t he deserve the moments of deeper joy others took for granted? Apparently, not even he believed so.
He’d had it for only a few breaths. And now he had promised to send her, and the strange peace surrounding her, far from him forever. He’d send her into her chance for happiness, and away from his.
Chapter Seven
Thorir threw the spear at Rorik as their men shouted. It came, straight and true, directly at him. Rorik shifted to the side, spinning at the same time, and caught it as it passed him. He continued the movement and hurled it back at the jarl. Thorir stepped back, knocking it aside with his shield. It skittered away, harmless.
Thorir laughed as he struck his shield with his hand. “That’s a good trick. The old tales tell of such tactics, but I never knew a man who could do them. I’ll have to learn it.”
“I can teach you sometime. Now you’ll have to show me how you fight with two swords.” He’d suggested they train for part of the morning. It would let him see what Thorir and his men were made of, what kind of support he could expect from them. Now that his blood was up, showing a few tricks wasn’t going to wear off the edge.
“I’ll have one of my men spar with me.”
Rorik unsheathed his sword. “No, I’d like to try facing you. It’ll be interesting.”
“It’ll be a risk.”
“I’ve fought from the western isles to the desert lands and I’ve encountered many types of fighting. I’m still alive. Unlike them, you’re not trying to kill me.”
Thorir grinned and drew his sword as one of his men brought a second one to him. He dropped his shield and hefted them. Rorik smiled back. A good warrior used his shield as well as his sword or axe to attack, and a man had to watch both. This would be little different. Except both weapons had a sharp edge.
He met Thorir and raised his shield, but not too high. That would leave his legs unprotected. It was a mistake men made when they were uncertain of themselves. He wasn’t.
Thorir brought his right sword around toward Rorik. He didn’t need to see the weapon, only where the jarl’s upper arm moved. He blocked it with his shield while arcing his blade to meet Thorir’s. They met in a hail of sparks. Rorik shoved both swords away from him. Moving slower than he would in true battle, he cut at Thorir’s legs while sweeping his own shield to the side. The jarl leaped back, crossing his swords between them. He pulled them apart. Rorik had to step back or risk his sword hand being caught between them.
Thorir sliced both weapons toward him. Rorik dropped as they passed over him, then rolled into the jarl, bringing him down as well. They lay on the ground for a moment, panting, then Rorik chuckled. With two blades whirling over him, it was the surest way to knock the jarl off his feet. Thorir laughed with him and their men joined in.
“What was that move?” Thorir sat up. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I’ve never done it before.” Rorik rested back on his elbows. “I couldn’t think of anything better at the moment. I’ll teach you to catch a spear if you teach me to fight with two swords like that.”
“Done.” He got up and offered his hand to Rorik. He took his wrist and Thorir pulled him to his feet. “That was a good session, but we need to discuss our alliance and plans.”
“After we clean up, I’ll meet you in the hall. We can talk then.”
Most of the men stayed to continue their sparring. Kaia and her shieldmaidens were there, as well, though they practiced on their own. Thorir’s men had challenged them earlier. They had learned why none of Rorik’s men were doing so and were nursing their cuts and bruises off to the side.
He might have just enough time for a steaming, if his servants had warm water ready for him to rinse off with in his private sauna. When he walked into the outer room, clean clothes were waiting. A silver cup of ale, chilled in a nearby stream, sat on a small table. He drained it. All that was missing was one of his women to help him bathe. But there was no time. His meeting with Thorir was too important.
A good fire was burning in the sauna chamber, several buckets of water beside it. The other men wouldn’t be washed and ready for a short time yet. He tossed water on himself to rinse the dirt off, then poured more on the fire. Steam billowed up. He sank down on the wood bench and leaned back against the wall, as he had last night when he’d sat beside Elfwynn. If she were in here, naked, awaiting him, then Halfdan the Black, King of the Vestfold, could be in his hall and he’d not care.
He closed his eyes. To have her here, laid out on the bench, her skin slick under his hands as he ran them over her breasts, down her flat belly . . .
He’d come here to relax before the meeting, but these thoughts weren’t helping. It would never happen anyhow. Not with her. She was a Christian, for one thing, and their god frowned on such pastimes. For another, she was worth more to him as a virgin.
Unless I keep her for myself. He opened his eyes and stared into the fire. No one would fault him for possessing her as a slave since her father had refused to pay her ransom. Then he would have all the time he needed to persuade her, entice her, seduce her into wanting him. He’d awaken her slowly, so slowly she wouldn’t be aware of what was happening until she wanted him just as much. Then she would be his. His reputation would be secure, and so would she. He could have the best of all worlds.
Except. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Except he had given her his word that he would take her to Hedeby. But what did that matter? She could say nothing, do nothing if he refused. She was not one of them. The only rights she had were the ones he chose to give her.
But the sorrow, the betrayal in her eyes would be the same as what he’d seen in them when she’d learned her father had abandoned her. This time, he would have caused it. She’d hate him more than she already did. It also went against everything his aunt and uncle, Lifa and Ivar, had taught him so long ago. Keep your word, hold to your honor and, because of the love and gratitude he had for Lifa and his cousin Silvi, respect all women. Always.
He stood, lifted a bucket of water, and poured it over his head, rinsing the sweat from his body. If he broke his word to her, he would be throwing away all the beliefs Lifa had raised him to follow. He didn’t have any good options. He could take her to Hedeby, keep his word, and lose the fascination and strange peace she brought him. Or he could force her to remain here for his pleasure, retain his hard-edged reputation and the approval of others, yet tear her apart.
Either way, he lost. He grimaced. Lost what? This was insane. She was but a means to an end. He’d do what he had to in order to get his money, come back to his village, his people, and his women, and move on. It was what he always did and it had suited him well enough. Until now.
Gathering his hair in front of him, he wrung it out, the water hissing onto the fire. He tossed it behind his shoulder and grabbed a towel. After drying himself, he combed his hair, dressed in his fine clothes, then went into the hall.
The serv
ants had set the table that stood in the center of the room with shining platters of bread, butter, fruit, nuts and cheese along with pitchers of chilled ale and beer. He and Thorir would sit opposite each other, neither being at the head of the table. Their men would sit to either side of them. He’d wanted Kaia to be there as well, as commander of the shieldmaidens. If it came to war, they’d fight also.
As he passed the door to the weaving room, he glanced in. Only one woman stood at the looms. Elfwynn. He couldn’t imagine what she was weaving, but the cloth was very long. It was rolled up on the top bar, so he couldn’t see what its length was, but there was a great deal of material there.
The rest of the looms stood idle. Odd. He’d noticed it the other day, but with the jarl here, he had forgotten to ask Kolla why they’d stopped their work. After the meeting, he’d have to attend to village matters.
He paused. He could go in and speak with Elfwynn, but it would only end in a fight, as always. Of course, then it would show Thorir he was telling the truth about her temper.
Thorir strode into the hall, his men following him, and the chance was past. Rorik sat at the table with them while the servants poured the ale and beer. Kaia settled beside him, eyeing Leif as though daring him to crack a joke. Leif met her stare, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips twitching. What was that all about?
“The situation with Oddr and Kolbienn has become troublesome.” Thorir took a hunk of cheese from one of the platters as the other men grabbed for the food and drink. “They’ve skirted the edge of my land for the past year, but they’ve never encroached onto yours until this summer.”
“Have you faced off against them?” Rorik waited as a servant set full plates in front of Thorir and him. “Do you know yet how strong their forces are?”
“Strong enough to think they can come up against both of us. That may be recent.”
“They’re getting help from somewhere else.”
Lord of the Seas Page 10