Lord of the Seas

by Sabrina Jarema

  “He said yes.”

  Rorik held her, not speaking, his face buried in her hair. She listened to his heartbeat, so strong and steady. Just like he was.

  She looked up at him. “I didn’t think I could be with you because I couldn’t live with unreturned love like my mother had. I didn’t want to become like her. But now she’s found her love, and I am like her after all. For I’ve found mine.”

  “So that means you love me as well?”

  She gave him a stern look. “Can you doubt it after all this? I love you so, Rorik, but I’m still uncertain about watching you leave for your voyages and not knowing if you’ll return. At least if I’m at Vargfjell, when you come home, I’ll be there for you.”

  “I intend to stay at Vargfjell most of the time anyhow. There’s still a threat from Halfdan and the jarls to the south. The village is going to expand now and I have so many ships and men that I’ll have to be there to keep it all working. Warriors, merchants, and other jarls will be coming to gain my favor. And you’ll be there. That’s all the reason I’ll need to stay. I think I’ll be around you so much, you may leave on one of the ships just to get away from me for a time.”

  “I doubt that. But my father does have one stipulation for our marriage. We must be wed with a Christian ceremony in the church.”

  He winced. “He doesn’t expect me to convert, does he?”

  “It’s enough that I convinced my father to let me marry Rorik of Vargfjell. One miracle a day is enough.”

  “I suppose I can build you a small church at Vargfjell.” He grinned. “I can even steal you a priest for it. Perhaps that one in Hedeby.”

  She frowned at him. “Rorik.”

  He sighed. “Very well. No priest stealing. Though if one wanders through, we can invite him to stay.”

  “That’s better.”

  “If I make you my wife in your church, do you think your god and you will forgive me for what I’ve done to you?”

  “He always forgives. And so do I.”

  Rorik looked out at the river at the remains of his ship that were too large to move. She turned so that she could see it as well. The top of the mast, lying at an angle broke the surface of the water.

  He rested his chin on the top of her head as he embraced her from behind. “My Sword of the Waves. When it burned, it was as though I was set ablaze. I abducted you to try to make it right. It did, but not as I thought it would. The sound of your words and your music put out the fires in my heart, Elfwynn. Who could have dreamed that from so much destruction and loss would come such a love as we have found?”

  Vargfjell

  Elfwynn rode a pure white mare. Magnus led it to the sacred grove where Rorik awaited her along with the people of the village and all the guests from around the region. She wore the beautiful tan and white beaded dress he’d given her during their private little war. It fit perfectly.

  After their wedding in Northumbria, along with the inevitable brawls between Rorik’s men and her father’s during the feast afterward, they had sailed across the North Sea and stopped at Haardvik. They’d invited Eirik and his family to the largest wedding the north had ever seen, as Rorik put it. As they’d passed the Sognefjorden, one of their ships had peeled off to tell Magnus and Silvi the news, and now, a month later, they were all here once again. This time, it was under much better circumstances. Rorik and Nuallen hadn’t even tried to kill each other. Yet.

  She stroked the mare’s mane. In the old days, she’d been told, it would have been sacrificed to honor the marriage and its blood sprinkled on them. But now, they would keep this horse as a sacred animal and it would live out its life in comfort.

  She’d spent the morning in the sauna, cleansing away her former life, as was tradition. Lifa told her of her new duties and responsibilities, as well as the secrets to guiding and advising her husband.

  “Never mind that,” Kaia had said. “All she has to do is sheath his sword and he’ll do anything she wants.” All the women laughed.

  A sword. As part of the ceremony, she was to give Rorik a new sword and her father had sent one of his finest with her. Magnus carried it in his free hand as he led the mare.

  Eirik waited with Rorik in the grove, Silvi and Lifa with them. He’d spent time in the sauna as well, listening to the advice of the men. His ebony hair gleamed down his chest and shoulders and he was dressed in dark trousers and a gray tunic made from the cloth she’d woven for him. The sword of his family was sheathed at his side. On his neck, the twisted gold torc of his rank gleamed.

  Magnus helped her off the mare and Turold led it to the side. They walked to Rorik where Magnus handed her the sword he’d carried. “With this sword, your father gives the power of guardianship and protection over you to Rorik.”

  She gave it to Rorik. He unsheathed his ancestral sword and handed it to her. They held the weapons horizontally while Lifa set gold rings on their hilts.

  She spoke to them both. “The joining of the swords and the rings shows the bonding of the oath you take together. The swords are a threat to both of you should you break your vows.”

  They removed the rings and slid them on their fingers. Rorik gazed down at her.

  “As a child, I took this blade, still warm from my father’s hand when he lay dead. It is yours to hold for our firstborn son. As I give it to you, I give you my protection, my faithfulness, my life, and my love.”

  She put her hand over his and the sword she had given him. “And I, also, vow to give you my life, my loyalty, and my love.”

  “The gods have heard your vows,” Lifa said. “They consecrate this marriage in joy and celebration.”

  Rorik sheathed his new sword and she handed the blade she held to Leif. Rorik caught her hard against him and kissed her. The people cheered, their voices ringing throughout the forest. Men pulled Rorik from her and led him back toward the village while Turold brought the mare back for her. She rode behind Rorik and the other men as they laughed. The crowd pelted her with flowers as they danced and sang. It was so different from the solemn, ritualistic Christian wedding she’d had in the church in Northumbria.

  This was all she could have dreamed of. Her family was far away, but with Rorik’s command of the seas, they’d make the crossing and see each other. Besides, Rorik would have to oversee his new land there. Her father had given him a large parcel of property near Redbank as her dowry. It gave Rorik a foothold there, increasing his wealth even more. And it offered Edward protection, for he was now aligned with the most powerful Northman. It cushioned him against the Danes who were infiltrating the region. Each claimed victory.

  Rorik waited for her in front of the door of the longhouse. Before she could dismount from the mare, he lifted her off and carried her across the threshold. The doorway was seen as a portal between worlds at this time, and it would be an omen of misfortune if she should stumble.

  After most of the people filed into the hall, they grew silent and watched Rorik. He unsheathed his new sword and plunged it into one of the supporting pillars. It sank in deep. When he pulled it out, it left a large scar, attesting to his prowess and strength.

  Amidst the celebrating, Elfwynn gave him a cup of mead, the first of her many duties as a wife. It was similar, and yet so different to the other times she’d served him before. He caught her eyes, and a knowing smile passed between them. He took it and made the sign of Thor over it, drank, then handed the cup to her. She held his gaze over the brim as she took a sip. They would drink many cups of mead together over the next four weeks and it made them one. They walked, amid many toasts and cheering, to their fur-covered seats at the head of the room.

  “My aunt will want to hear what you dream this night, Wife.”

  Rorik’s voice in her ear still brought shivers to her. But it would have been difficult to hear him otherwise above all the celebrations in the hall. It was filled with people from all over the north. Even Ellisif had returned. She had disappeared after the battle, her wolves with her, but now
she was sitting near Kaia. Leif eyed the shieldmaiden while she ignored him.

  She considered what Rorik had said. Was hearing her dreams another Norse wedding custom? She’d had to learn so many of them before their ceremony earlier that day. “Why would Lifa want to know them?”

  “A bride’s dreams on her wedding night tell the story of their life together. Since my aunt is a rune mistress, it falls to her to interpret them.”

  “We’ve already been married a month, Rorik. This is hardly our wedding night.”

  “Before my gods, it is.” His voice dropped into a deep thrum. “Although, I don’t intend to let you have much of a chance to dream at all this night.”

  The room became very warm. “Do you think anyone would notice if we vanished?”

  “Our chamber is but a few steps away.”

  “I was referring to going outside, perhaps down by the shore.” She cast him a sideways glance.

  He sighed. “Already rejected. But I’ll have my revenge later.”

  “I look forward to it.” She nipped his ear.

  He groaned. “Let’s leave, then, while they’re busy toasting us. They’ll never notice we’re gone until they come up for air. By then, with any luck, they won’t care.” Taking her hand, he led her past the crowd and out the front door.

  They walked down to the shore and sat on a bench. She rested her head on his shoulder. “The work on your new longship goes well. I’ll complete your sail by the time it’s ready.”

  The docks were deserted because of the festivities. The beginnings of a massive ship rose above the beach. The keel was finished and balanced on stocks set into the sand, the forestem and afterstem were attached, and the shipwrights were ready to clamp on the first of the side boards.

  “You don’t owe me that sail any longer. I told you that before you left here. Someone else can weave it.”

  She straightened and turned to him. “If you think I’ll let anyone else work on it, you’re mistaken. No one else can do it with the same skill I can.”

  “I see it as a symbol of everything I did wrong to you.”

  “I started it and I’ll finish it. Please, Rorik. Consider it my wedding gift to you. Wherever it takes you in the world, a piece of me will go with you, and it will bring you back to me.”

  He searched her eyes, his hands cupping her face. “I can accept it as your gift to me. Just as the wind will fill the sail, so you have filled my life. I couldn’t see past the scars in my mind until you showed me they were the symbols of the strength it took for me to heal from the wounds that caused them. I’ve traveled the seas, looking for something I didn’t understand I needed until I met you. And whenever I leave here again, I’ll have to take you with me. The world couldn’t survive me without you.”

  His silver-green eyes shone with love as he kissed her. Then he gazed up at Vargfjell rising behind them. The laughter drifted down from the great longhouse as he gathered her to him. “I’ve always given away my wealth to my people to make up for the past. But you’re the one treasure I plan to keep for myself.”

  If you enjoyed Lord of the Seas be sure not to miss the rest of Sabrina Jarema’s Viking Lords series, including

  LORD OF THE MOUNTAINS

  Amid the glittering fjords and majestic mountains of Norway, this stunning series delves into the loves, battles, and dreams of the Viking clans—powerful men and women who believed in the call of the flesh as well as the soul . . .

  It was said that the man who could look into Silvi Ivarsdottir’s eyes would be meant for her. Powerful jarl Magnus Sigrundson knows he is that man, and that Silvi’s dowry can give him the ships, swords, and silver he needs for his trading empire. Yet beautiful Silvi’s dream is not to be a wife, but a Priestess of the gods for the great temple at Uppsala. Who dares interfere with such passion? The answer lies in Silvi herself, in the way her body awakens to Magnus’ touch, in the way she inspires a reverence he didn’t know he possessed—and in the battles she takes on when she journeys to his mountain home of Thorsfjell.

  But soon a dangerous, deceitful enemy threatens to shatter. Now they face another quest: can they find each other again—and dare live and love in each other’s worlds?

  Keep reading for a special look.

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now!

  Chapter One

  The village of Haardvik

  Hardangerfjorden, Hordaland, Norway

  851 A.D.

  The sound of steel on steel shattered the calm beauty of the early spring day.

  Silvi Ivarsdottir paused, listening to the clash echoing through the trees and the mountains. She didn’t need to reach out with her thoughts to know what was happening. The reason for the disruption was obvious. Her brother’s weeklong wedding celebrations were still going on in the village, so beer and weapons were inevitable. Anticipated, in fact. It was what men did best.

  The sound of combat didn’t come from the village. She tilted her head, seeking the source of the disturbance. Her breath stilled. They wouldn’t dare. It came from the place where the gods walked, the sacred grove. No one brought weapons there, the same as in the great temples. It was sacrilege.

  Her stomach twisting, she rushed toward the clearing. She didn’t fear facing down warriors. Rather, they should fear her. After all, she’d had the gods on her side since birth. She would defend and honor them until she went to Freya’s hall in the afterlife.

  She burst into the clearing and skidded to a stop. Two men circled each other. They were bare to the waist. Their long, dark hair swirled around their broad shoulders as they came together in an explosion of steel and sparks. They were both massive, men in their prime, fighting with all the skill that made their people so feared throughout the world. They moved with the masculine grace inborn to all the finest warriors as they surged through the clearing like water rushing in a river.

  Her cousin Rorik laughed aloud as he swung, his black hair sweeping over his shoulders and down his chest. White teeth flashing, he smashed his shield against his opponent’s arm, trapping his blade. Rorik thrust, but his blade met with air as the other man stepped to the side and brought his own shield up, deflecting the deadly edge.

  Magnus.

  He pressed Rorik back several steps with his wicked, fast sword strokes. His hair was so dark, it looked almost black, except for the deep golden lights in it. Moving with the skill of a predator, he surged forward, taking his advantage.

  Her heart stuttered. As she watched them, her body heated, her breath quickening. Maybe it was only because she had just run a fair distance. The sun glanced off Magnus’s sculpted arms as he swung his sword in a deadly arc. It smashed into the other blade with an explosion of sparks. She held her breath. If she called out, it could distract them. An instant’s hesitation might mean death to one of them. Her anger at the sacrilege was not worth the risk. She could do nothing but watch.

  Rorik disengaged, then hit Magnus’s sword with his own, nearly knocking it out of his hand. He shook his black hair from his face and laughed as he brought his sword around for another blow. Magnus hit the ground, rolled, and came to his knees. He swept his shield horizontally, aiming for Rorik’s legs. Rorik leaped over it with a yell, and before he landed, Magnus was on his feet. He struck Rorik with his shield and knocked him onto his back.

  It wasn’t over yet, though. Rorik threw his shield, edge first. Magnus spun out of the way, arching his back as it knifed past him. It gave Rorik time to leap up and charge him. He drove Magnus back until he could grab his own shield and reposition it on his left arm.

  They circled each other, grinning. Their bodies glistened with sweat. Rorik’s stomach was rippled and flat. Magnus’s was the same, save for a wicked, jagged scar crossing his lower abdomen. Both were slim hipped, broad shouldered, tall, and powerful. But it was Magnus she watched. Rorik laughed and danced as he fought. Magnus stood solid, every move weighted and purposeful. His cuts were clean, direct, with no wasted energy or movement. His strength radiated from him
like a storm rolling over the mountains.

  She’d seen him in a vision before he’d come with her brother, Eirik, to set her village free of the marauders who had held them captive all winter. She’d tended his wounds, and while his blood flowed onto the ground, he’d stared at her as one thunderstruck. He’d continued to watch her through the following days. Now Eirik was married to Magnus’s sister, Asa, so Magnus was family of sorts. She’d have to see him many times in the future. At least, until she went to live at the great temple at Uppsala. Then she would see no one at all.

  She shook herself out of her reverie. This was wrong, that they should bring weapons into a sacred place. They were still feinting, no doubt resting for a final onslaught.

  “Rorik.” Her raised voice stopped him short and he jumped away from Magnus with a guilty wince. “How dare you fight in the grove, Rorik? Not even you could be that sacrilegious.”

  Instead of answering her, her cousin clapped Magnus on the shoulder and said, low, “Run. Now.” He bounded into the shadow of the trees, leaving Magnus standing alone.

  She started after him. “I heard that, Rorik. Get back here.”

  Magnus lifted his sword in a question. “Rorik, what are you doing?” He turned toward Silvi as she bore down on him. “We were just training a bit, Silvi. How could we know this was your grove?”

  “It’s the gods’ grove, not mine. Rorik knows. He’s been here before.” She shot Magnus a glare. “As for you . . . Don’t you scent the breath of the gods here? Don’t you feel their power in the very ground? Or has your dishonor chased them from here?”

  “I scarcely think a little swordplay would frighten them from here. Perhaps they’re away for the day, seeing to other matters.” He sheathed his sword.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing. “How can you be so irreverent? The gods will surely smite you for such talk.”