Lord of the Seas

by Sabrina Jarema

  Though it was just his luck that Nuallen was a Christian and wouldn’t have the honor of being in Valhalla.

  He buried his aching head in his hands. His family would back him in this war. He had no doubt of that. But their relationship went further than the battlefield. The looks of disapproval and anger they’d given him settled inside him like a lump of glacial ice.

  When Lifa heard about this, it would be even worse. At least he might not have to see her until tonight. But he had to face Elfwynn now. She’d waited on him long enough. He’d always thrown himself into the worst battles imaginable with fearless abandon, rode out the fiercest storms on the seas, and sailed into waters that no one else dared. None of it daunted him.

  One little Christian did. If he’d failed in any of those other feats, he would lose only his life. It had to happen at some point. It was fated at his birth, so he might as well make a good show of it for the gods to enjoy.

  If he failed at this, though, he would lose something more precious. He’d lose Elfwynn. If he hadn’t already. At least this way, he had her here, near him, and he’d have the time to try to heal the grievous wound he’d caused within her.

  He didn’t want to look too deeply into why this was important to him. It might only be that, because he’d brought her here to begin with, he was responsible for her and he’d always taken such things seriously. He did the same for Vargfjell.

  But what if it was something more? He downed the rest of his ale and rose from the table. One disaster at a time.

  Like diving into freezing water in midwinter after a sauna, it was best to do it and get it over with. As he passed the weaving room, he glanced in. Each loom held a length of cloth, as it should. But the women were gone. They had to have spoken with Elfwynn and heard the story when she came into the longhouse. Even now, they were most likely spreading the word throughout the village that she was back. It was too much to hope everyone would be pleased by the circumstances. The day felt longer than the entire voyage from Hedeby.

  He knocked on the door to the small chamber but got no answer. Had she fled? Concerned, he opened the door.

  She was asleep on the bed, under a white fur cover. A half-eaten bowl of stew was on the small table and her bag of clothes lay unopened on the floor. The servants had kept this room in order, most likely in the hope that someday he’d have a wife who could come here to nurse her children and keep them close to the master chamber.

  His mother had needed it to escape the horror of her life, to be safe with his sisters and him. But he would never risk another woman having to live in that nightmare. Or any children, for that matter.

  Sitting on the bed, he watched her. Her curling hair was still wind-tossed from the voyage, spreading across the bed behind her. Long lashes swept her cheeks. Tear-stained cheeks. Lying in a tiny ball beneath the fur, she looked so defenseless and lost. Something inside him moved and he passed his hand over her hair but didn’t touch it.

  “I’m sorry.” He whispered the words. “Everything went so wrong. If I were any other man, a better man, I’d let you go. But I’m not. I have to rule with my sword and my word. If I break either of them, I could lose all I have and all I am. And if I lose, then my people, my family, and my land, will be lost. They must come first. I just hope I haven’t broken you in the process.”

  He lifted her hand from the pillow and squeezed it. “Elfwynn. Wake up. I have to speak with you.”

  She opened her eyes, dreams still floating in them. Then she saw him and sat up, clutching the fur to her, eyes wide. He didn’t move, didn’t want to alarm her. They were alone, on the bed, and he ruled here. No one would stop him and she knew it, so he stood and leaned against a wall to put some space between them. Anything to take the fear from her expression.

  “I only want to speak with you. Was the stew enough for you?”

  She nodded. “I was too tired to eat all of it.”

  “We’ll have the evening meal in a short while. Perhaps you’ll feel better then.”

  “I’ll feel better when I know where I stand here. On the ship you said I was to be a slave, yet once we landed, you said not. Which is it?”

  She was direct. He would be the same way if he didn’t know his future.

  “You’re not. I spoke in anger on the ship.” Not wanting to loom over her, he pulled up the one chair in the room and sat down, keeping his distance. She relaxed, but still eyed him and he couldn’t blame her. It was important she listened to what he said, rather than worry about what he was going to do.

  “You have to understand I suffered a great loss with the burning of my ship. They are almost living things to us. We never destroy them, even in a sea battle. They are too valuable and treasured, a symbol of what we are. You’ve said I wouldn’t feel the cost of rebuilding it, and in that, you’re right. The cost to me is more than gold. The Norse admire strength above all else. Everything we are is instilled with physical strength, political power, and reputation. Especially for a man in my position.

  “In many ways, your father defeated me. Not only did he burn my flagship, but he attacked us and killed two of my men. That requires the payment of wergeld, their set value in gold.”

  “We have the same thing in Northumbria. A person’s value is according to rank.”

  He nearly sighed in relief. At least this was familiar to her. “There must be some form of recompense to their families for their loss.”

  “Why can’t you pay the families?”

  “Because I didn’t cause the loss. Your father did.”

  “And now you can’t get the money from him, so you’ll take it out on me.” Her eyes flashed as she glared at him.

  “Don’t forget, you did offer yourself in exchange for my not destroying your keep to get the money.”

  “That was for the ransom.”

  “Yes, and it failed.”

  “Because you asked too much.”

  “The cost of a ship is what it is, and the wergeld is a set amount, as well. Earlier this summer, a man named Toke accused Magnus of an unlawful killing of his son. Because the son was an heir to property, it was a major offense. It wouldn’t be considered murder, for it happened in the open with witnesses, but it was serious enough to be brought before the thing. If the free men there had voted Magnus guilty, then his entire family could have been devastated financially, for they all would have had to pay for what he had done. Fortunately, he was cleared of any wrongdoing.

  “Your father killed two of my men in treachery. He has refused to pay me, so I must get it another way.”

  “And I, being of his family, must be the one to suffer for that.”

  “Not suffer, no. I never want to see that. But I can’t let it go. If I do, word will spread that I’m weakening and I can’t have that. I have to get the cost one way or the other so men will see I seek revenge from the earl.”

  “With his daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” She plucked at the fur. “And what is to be my fate? There is little I can offer you, except that which men have always taken from women.” She flushed.

  “With how you feel about me, it would be rape. I have killed my own men for that. It will not happen here.” At her nod, he continued. “It will be more convenient for you to be in this room because you will see to my things. My chamber and clothing kept in order and clean. My sauna kept well stocked with water and wood. You’ll serve my meals and my drink to me in the hall. It shouldn’t take you long to do any of these things. I’m a simple man.”

  She gave him a doubtful look. “And how long will it take me to work off this debt at that pace? I’ll be hobbling around here when I’m old and gray.”

  “That’s not all I’ll expect from you.”

  “Oh?” She bit her lip.

  “A sail. You’ll weave a sail for the ship replacing the one your father burned. When you’ve finished it, then you’ll have repaid the debt of your family and you’ll be free.”

  She blinked, her brows
raised. “That’s all? A sail?”

  “It uses the same amount of material to clothe forty men. Make no mistake, it takes a long time, as long as to build the ship itself. And that’s if several women work on it. You, and you alone, will weave it. It will likely take about four years.”

  He watched her consider it. It was the best solution he could think of, for his men would see he was getting recompense for his loss. Weaving was easy for her and she loved to do it. He would get a sail of the highest quality.

  She’d live well with the best food, clothing, protection. He’d make certain of it. The same as the people here. Vargfjell already loved her, so they’d welcome her. At least they’d see she was doing what she enjoyed, so perhaps he wouldn’t have a revolt on his hands. Perhaps. Meanwhile, he’d have the time to figure out what the strange attraction was she held for him.

  “Do you agree?” He studied her.

  She didn’t look at him, but at the fur she was picking at. “I don’t have much choice. It’s not such a different life as I would have had at home with the washing and cleaning. Even though the men cook, the women still serve in the hall, so that’s the same as well. And at least you have good looms here.”

  The tension in his shoulders loosened until she raised her head with a determined glint in her eyes. “I’ll weave you a sail. But know this, Northman. It might take another woman four years to weave a sail, but none of them are as good or as fast as I am. I’ll weave until my hands bleed and my arms cramp. I’ll weave even if I can no longer stand at the looms and have to kneel. Though for some reason it be years, and though I grow old and blind, still I’ll weave, until I’m free again.”

  * * *

  Elfwynn let the stone weight drop, and the warp threads tightened perfectly. She ran her hand over the threads she’d strung already. In the morning, she could begin weaving.

  She glanced out the door and into the hall. Rorik was still sitting at his table after the evening meal, talking with Eirik, Leif, and Magnus. Galinn and some of the other men sat in on their session as well. They must be planning for their war.

  Her hand shook at she knotted more of the warp threads around the weight stones. Just the thought of war brought the fear upon her. Her father and Wulf weren’t here, though, so why would that be?

  No matter. She was just tired. She’d slept a bit more after Rorik had left, so she felt better than she had. But for the entire journey, the emotions churning through her and her uncertainty about her fate had taken their toll on her. When she’d awakened and saw him sitting beside her on the bed, she’d had an instant of fear. He was so strong, so masculine. Anything he wanted, he took. And if he’d wanted her . . .

  Instead, he’d gone out of his way to reassure her, moving away and sitting down. He didn’t have to do that, but he had. Her jaw tightened. She couldn’t soften toward him. Rorik held her responsible for her father’s perfidy. He had no right to do that. But his word was all that mattered here, not what was right or fair.

  Still, it could have been far worse. She would have most likely spent her days weaving anyhow. It made little difference what the cloth would be used for. In the morning, before she started, she’d have to go to the docks to find a sail to study. She didn’t want him to have an excuse to back out on his word because she’d used the wrong pattern.

  Why did he want her here? Before they’d left for Hedeby, he’d tried to talk her into staying. Now, he ensconced her next to his room, rather than at Oslafa’s house. One would think, with all the tension between them, he’d want her to stay far away from him.

  “Elfwynn.” Oslafa hurried into the room, Turold following her. “I was away for the day and just heard you were back and about what happened in Hedeby.” She embraced her. “Everyone is talking about it.”

  Heat crept up her face. Everyone must have known what happened as soon as they saw her serving Rorik at the evening meal a short while ago, but it was disconcerting that they should be discussing her. So many people had greeted and hugged her during the meal. It had warmed her like nothing else had in a long time.

  “It looks like I’m one of you,” she said. “For a while, anyhow.”

  “We always considered you more than a guest.” Turold gave her a quick embrace. “Now you are.”

  “You haven’t gone back to the farmlands yet?” Elfwynn smiled up at him.

  “Just before he left, I asked Rorik if I could stay here and work on the houses instead of the barns. He said yes.”

  She nudged him. “So you could be nearer to Finna.”

  “Yes, and it pays better. But I’m not certain it was wise. It will only make it more difficult to part when we eventually have to.”

  “We’ll work on that while I’m here.”

  “I saw the cloth you gave my mother so she could sell it toward the bride-price.” He took her hand. “I thank you. It will help, if Finna can keep from marrying someone else in the meantime.”

  Perhaps if she could teach the other women the more complex embroidery stitches she knew, they could all work on ribbons to sell. She hadn’t thought she’d have the time before, but now, she did. With the Norse love of color and ornamentation, the ribbons would be worth a great deal. Somehow, they’d find a way.

  As the young man released her hand, she glanced out the door into the hall. Rorik still sat at the table with the men, but he was watching her, his eyes narrowed. She answered his hard look with one of her own, then smiled at Turold. Let Rorik think what he wanted.

  Oslafa leaned closer. “There are many people who are not happy with Rorik right now. They don’t like what he’s done to you, making you pay for what your father did. The men who went with you to Hedeby are especially displeased with him.”

  “I thought that was their way. Even we have similar laws at home.”

  “Rorik’s all but a king. He can amend any law and make any judgment himself. A ruler, whether king or jarl, must please the people. It’s not like in our land where kings say they rule by the will of God and none can go against that. Here, a king or jarl leads his people by their will. If they don’t approve of him, they can vote against him and another will take his place. Likewise, his sons may follow after him, but only if they prove themselves. It’s not a given. Any man who leads knows this, and has to take it into account. And right now, none of us are very pleased with him.”

  She wanted to take a small amount of vengeance on him. Even a tiny splinter could bother the strongest man. As she’d prepared the loom, she’d thought of small things she could do to antagonize him. But nothing like this. “Oslafa, I don’t want any of you to fight my wars for me. Rorik has done too much for Vargfjell for any of you to turn against him. Not over me.”

  “We won’t turn against him,” she said. “We love him well and will always be loyal to him. But that doesn’t mean we’ll turn a blind eye to anything he does. It’s our right to express our displeasure. And we will. In our own ways. You don’t see any of the weavers in here, do you? We slowed our work before you left and we can do so again. We’ll always make certain Vargfjell has what it needs, but we can put a bit of pressure in certain places and in certain ways that Rorik will notice.”

  She smiled with a twinkle in her eyes. “The food may not be quite as good. The ale may be a bit sour, the beer not as sweet. The servants might be a little slower and the men might not want to stay and drink quite so late. Or at all. Do you see anyone in the hall right now besides those with Rorik? When has it been empty this early in the evening?”

  “I can’t believe an entire village would do that for me.”

  “As you said, you’re one of us now. When you first came here, you could have held yourself away, looked down on us. You didn’t. Instead, you gave of yourself, your talents, and your kindness. All good Christian virtues.” She grinned.

  “If I were that good a Christian, I wouldn’t have the thoughts I’m having about Rorik.”

  Oslafa gave her a teasing smile. “Oh?”

  “Not like that
.” She blushed again. “Like how I can make him miserable without him killing me.” She sighed. “Maybe that’s not a good idea after all. I saw his temper in Hedeby and I’m not certain I want to see it again.”

  “You most likely won’t either.” Oslafa sobered as she glanced out the door at him. She lowered her voice. “Rorik has a darkness in him that stems from his past. His aunt, Lifa, taught him how to curb it when he was growing up. He’s kept it under control for the most part. But it’s said when something is being taken from him, something he holds as his or that he loves, the rage comes on him again. And it can last for days. When he heard you speak to him at Hedeby, it broke the grip on him.” She studied Elfwynn, her expression thoughtful. “Something he holds and something he loves. And yet, when the rage came on him in Hedeby, all he was holding, and all he stood to lose, was you.”

  * * *

  “Thinking of absconding with it and sailing back to Northumbria?”

  Elfwynn jumped at the sound of Rorik’s voice above her. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked up at him from the deck of the ship as he stood on the dock. He jumped down beside her. He made it look so easy, while she’d felt like she was going to capsize the whole thing when she got in. Or end up in the water herself.

  “Just make certain not to sail all the way to the great inland sea that has no tides. Remember to take the North Sea instead. Go to the tip of our land, then southwest.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that. Now all I have to do is bribe a crew, steal provisions, and learn how to wield a sword so I can fight pirates along the way. And figure out which way is southwest.”

  “You’ll be a shieldmaiden, then.” He grinned at her.

  She didn’t return the smile. “I’ve been studying the sail. It’s a simple tabby weave, but you didn’t tell me the sails were a double thickness.”

  “I didn’t hide the fact. You could have seen it at any time while you were on the ships.”

  “I wasn’t worried about the thickness of the sails when I was being hauled back and forth across the sea, trying to keep from drowning from all the water sloshing in.”