Sobering quickly, Reider struggled to be free of Gorm’s henchmen. Words stuck in his throat, so great was his heartbroken rage. “He was your father, Gorm. He loved you.”
Gorm smirked, the crown of Strand perched askew atop his head, and spat out a chewed fingernail. “He was my step father. You are the son he loved. Now I will have what was to be yours. Get him out of my Hall.”
They dragged Reider out into the frigid night and along the beach. The crunch of boots on pebbles sounded his death knell. He felt the cold bite of a dagger at his throat and swallowed hard, waiting for the end. He would not cry out. For his father’s sake he would die well.
Suddenly there was a scuffle. He vaguely heard voices barking urgent commands. His captors slumped to the ground beside him with a grunt. Strong arms hooked his armpits, and he was half carried, half dragged, unable to make his legs work. The wet warmth trickling down his thighs was strangely comforting. He must still be alive if he had pissed himself. Hurled into a longboat, he hit his head on the decking and succumbed to oblivion.
~*~
He came to his senses at dawn, braced against the crosswale. A blanket covered him, but the wool smelled damp and the wind bit into his flesh like a whetted knife. He peered over the side. There was no sign of land.
His friend and comrade, Kjartan Eldarsen, stood at the tiller, his tight jaw and tense stance confirming that the grizzly events of the night before had been real. Reider put his hand to his neck. It had been bound with linen, but his body stank of urine and the sweat of fear. A thirst for revenge welled up in his throat. He quickly closed his eyes and leaned over the side to retch, pressing a hand to the binding.
Kjartan beckoned another shipmate to take the tiller, then strode over to Reider, bracing his legs to the movement of the boat. He put his hand on Reider’s back. “Retching won’t help your wound. Not like a master mariner to be seasick.”
Reider wiped his mouth and looked up at his friend. Kjartan’s gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement and Reider smiled ruefully. He opened his mouth to agree, but no sound came out. Kjartan frowned as Reider struggled to speak, his heart racing. His friend again put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. They intended to cut your throat. Rest your voice. It will return.”
Reider came to his feet on shaky legs, hugging the blanket around his shoulders against the biting wind. He touched his pounding head and winced when he discovered a goose egg over his eyebrow. As if the hangover wasn’t enough! Grief and anger clouded his thoughts and made him dizzy. He clutched the side of the boat. Though he stood beside Kjartan, if he’d had a voice, he would have been obliged to shout over the wind and the snap of the full sail. His thoughts were in turmoil.
Gorm’s treachery against a man who loved him like his own son cut deep, but Margit’s actions were unfathomable. If she had married him, the rightful heir, she would have ruled anyway, in time. He had been content for his father’s sake to agree to the arranged marriage with the chieftain’s daughter from Heide. She had hidden her cunning nature well.
Kjartan shrugged one shoulder, his face sour. He divined his friend’s thoughts. “I’ve often said women are not to be trusted.”
Reider shook his head, embarrassed to admit to his confirmed bachelor friend that he had fancied Margit in love with him. All the while she had thirsted for Gorm!
He would swear off women and ply the trade routes with Kjartan. Never marrying would mean no heirs, but what did it matter now Gorm had stolen the peaceful island principality off the Danish coast?
Nej! He could not turn his back. He must avenge his father’s death and regain his birthright.
Kjartan’s voice broke into his thoughts. “We head for Husembro. We can hide in the cove. It will give us time to plan.”
Reider felt guilty he had lain in a stupor while his friend and ally effected their escape. He mouthed a question. “Pursuit?”
Kjartan shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I made sure they couldn’t follow.”
Reider put his hand on his comrade’s shoulder, and drew him into his embrace. He wanted Kjartan to know how grateful he was.
His friend only nodded, but a loud cheer erupted from the crew. Reider turned to look at the men who had helped save his life. He thrust his fist into the air, struggling to yell a battle cry. Blood rushed to his head. His feet felt like lead weights. His belly churned. He prayed he would not retch again.
The men exchanged confused glances, then Kjartan led the rallying call. “For Strand,” he bellowed, raising his fist.
“For Strand,” the men echoed.
“For Torfinn!”
“For Torfinn!”
“For Prince Reider!”
“For our prince!”
Reider could only bow his head in acknowledgement, overwhelmed by their loyalty. Would he prove to be worthy of their trust and confidence? The future loomed full of dark uncertainty. The daunting task of ridding Strand of a cruel usurper was his, and he was poorly prepared. Why had he not taken his responsibilities more seriously? He had thought his father would live forever.
He and Kjartan stood together for a long while in silence as the boat skimmed the waves. Reider swore under his breath never to trust a woman again. Were it not for Kjartan and his men, he too would be sailing a stone ship to Valhalla.
I
Kirkthwaite Hall, Northumbria, England,
March 1124 A.D.
Ragna FitzRam stamped her foot, brandishing her sister’s letter under her brother’s nose. “I intend to go, Aidan, and you cannot stop me. Blythe thinks it’s a wonderful idea and is anxious for my visit. We haven’t seen each other since the deaths of our parents.”
Aidan tried vainly to interrupt Ragna’s tirade but she carried on. “It is our duty to deliver to Blythe the ceremonial dagger our mother wanted her to inherit.”
Aidan stopped pacing. It was a wonder he had not worn a groove in the floor of the gallery after years of fruitless arguments with his stubborn younger sister. He took a deep breath. “That’s an excuse, Ragna.”
Another stamp of the foot. “No!”
Aidan held up his hand, hoping to silence her, though it was unlikely. “It is out of the question for you to undertake such a journey without either myself or Edwin accompanying you.”
Ragna snorted, her face red, blue eyes bulging. “But you will never go back to Saxony. You’re too busy administering the FitzRam estates—and making babies with Nolana.”
Aidan considered himself a patient man, but he pointed a warning finger. “You go too far, sister. Don’t forget it was you who urged me to sire children when you were trying to convince me to leave the monastery.”
Ragna ignored him, putting her hands on her hips. “Edwin is busy with Shelfhoc Hall. He won’t accompany me. I’ve equipped my own escort.”
Perhaps he had misheard? “What! Mercenaries?”
Ragna held up her hands, palms facing him, as if to ward off any further objections. “Everything is arranged. I don’t want to take protection away from Kirkthwaite. We will sail from Newcastle to Hamburg, and Dieter has arranged a Saxon escort from Hamburg to Wolfenberg.”
Evidently their brother-by-marriage was part of this scheme. Aidan took a step towards his sister, tempted to throttle her. “What?”
For the first time, some of the defiance left Ragna’s face. “I will not cross the Narrow Sea.”
Aidan held his tongue. Sailing from the south coast of England to Normandie would be too painful—it would open the still raw wound of their parents’ drowning four years before in the White Ship disaster. It was a painful truth. Distance had denied the sisters a chance to grieve together. He took a deep breath and put his arm around her shoulder. She remained stiff, refusing to yield. “Ragna—”
She pulled away. “Aidan, you think of me as a little girl, but I am a woman of three and twenty. I never intend to marry and I want to live my life my way. You and Nolana have little Ingram and Symon, and no doubt more childre
n to come. I want to go to Blythe, give her the dagger. It’s what Mother would have wanted.”
Aidan could not recall ever winning an argument with her, and wasn’t likely to win this one. “I’ll consider it—if I’m assured you have a well armed escort.”
Ragna flew into his arms. “Thank you, Aidan. Don’t worry, I’ll return safely in a few months and resume my life as doting spinster aunt to your handsome children. And I’ll take Thor with me.”
Aidan might have known she would want to take the hound. Thor had been her constant companion since their uncle, Baudoin de Montbryce, had given her the alaunt gentil puppy three years ago. As he stroked her back, he had to admit that life at Kirkthwaite Hall did not offer Ragna much excitement. He was usually immersed in the day to day workings of their fledgling mead-making endeavor, and their two infant sons took up most of Nolana’s time.
Did he want his sister to stay at Kirkthwaite for his own soul? To keep her safe? To protect the FitzRam family from the possibility of another devastating loss?
He had to allow her to go, but what a waste it would be if his beautiful, spirited hellion of a sister never married. He chuckled inwardly. It would take a patient man to tame their Wild Viking Princess. Ragna chafed at the nickname, but it had stuck since childhood and suited her well. No one in the family looked or acted more like a descendant of Danes than Ragna, and none of her siblings had Ragna’s fair hair. Their Danish grandmother had died before any of them were born, but Aidan suspected Ragna looked exactly like the woman for whom she had been named.
II
Aidan accompanied Ragna to the Newcastle docks with an escort from Kirkthwaite Hall. He intended to interrogate the leader of the mercenaries she had hired, hoping to find a flaw in their credentials. He squared his shoulders and approached the young warrior. “Who recommended you to my sister?”
The man replied without hesitation. “The Earl of Ellesmere.”
Aidan looked at him in disbelief, feeling his face redden. “My uncle Baudoin?”
“Oui, milord.”
Aidan stole a glance at his sister, who had a look of innocent satisfaction on her face. The vixen had laid a trap for him! Why had he not had the foresight to ask how she had known of the mercenaries before they left home? He had forgotten how manipulative she could be.
He tried to find fault with the ship and its captain, but both garnered excellent references from anyone he consulted.
Reluctantly, he agreed to allow Ragna’s trunks to be loaded on to the cog. “Are you absolutely sure you want to make this journey?” he asked her. “I have a bad feeling.”
“You know I have to, Aidan. Don’t worry. Thor will protect me. You’re simply feeling protective. I will be back before you know I am gone. And Captain Philion’s men will see me safely to Hamburg. I will give Blythe your love.”
She waved an imperious hand towards the vessel. “What can happen aboard such a fine ship?”
He did not want to mention that the ship that had sunk four year before, taking their parents’ lives, had been a cog. In that instance, the captain’s drunkenness had been the main cause of the catastrophe. No reason to think the Nordique would meet the same fate as La Blanche Nef.
He pointed to their mother’s dagger tucked into a scabbard on her hip. “Wouldn’t it be safer to pack that in one of your trunks?”
She patted the weapon. “No, I want to keep it with me. It will be my lucky talisman.”
He escorted her on board and inspected the tented area that had been set up for the passenger. He checked the food supplies with the ship’s victualler. He inspected once again the weaponry and credentials of every one of the ten mercenaries. He went over every detail of the voyage with Philion, though he understood nothing of charts and tides.
Ragna became impatient. “Aidan, I am embarking on this voyage, no matter how much you try to delay it. I am the only passenger. Are you not yet reassured I will be safe?”
Aidan could not shake his foreboding, though he had to agree his sister seemed to have thought of everything. She had even garbed herself as a young man for greater safety.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I will never forgive myself if something happens to you.”
She covered his hands with hers. “Nothing will happen, Aidan. It’s only a three day voyage. You are being too cautious.”
Aidan shrugged. “One of us in the family has to be. It’s a characteristic you have never been known for, sister. I see nothing will dissuade you. Kiss me goodbye. Send us a message once you arrive.”
Ragna surprised him by hugging him tightly and kissing him on both cheeks. “Of course I will. Take good care of Nolana and your handsome sons while I am away. Keep those babies away from your bees.”
Despite his concerns, Aidan laughed. “I will. Believe me, I remember only too well the pain of bee stings.”
The moment of shared laughter made him feel better. Ragna would be perfectly safe. He wished her Godspeed, then disembarked.
He sat atop his horse, watching from the dock as the Nordique pulled away with its precious cargo. He raised his hand in a farewell salute, perturbed by the look of fearful apprehension on his sister’s face.
III
The wind-whipped sand stung Reider’s eyes as he struggled in the driving rain to replace the broken rope. They had been lucky. The majority of the moorings had held and they had not lost either longboat to the storm tide—yet.
The elements raged with a wild fury the like of which he had never seen before, though he had lived his life on the sea. His heart had raced more than once with the gut-wrenching terror that came with being at the mercy of a turbulent sea, and shuddered for anyone caught in this storm. Its sudden intensity had taken everyone by surprise.
His boats strained at their moorings, but he feared they would not remain undamaged, even in the shelter of their hidden cove. There was already wet sand in the hull of the one he had secured. Too much would sink it. The crew would start repairs at the first sign of a break in the weather. It was vital their boats always be ready.
A voice came on the wind. “Reider!”
He straightened his shoulders and peered into the darkness, icy rain pelting his face, his fingers numb. It was Kjartan. Perhaps his friend needed help with the other boat?
Satisfied the newly secured ropes would hold, he rammed his hands back into his sealskin mittens and set off across the sodden sand to assist his comrade.
Kjartan stood ready to greet him. “All secure here, let’s walk back together. This wind is enough to sweep a man away. I’ll hold on to you and you hold on to me!” He linked his arm playfully in Reider’s.
They struggled up the beach to the lodge like two drunken fools. Kjartan grabbed the nape of Reider’s neck and squeezed. “Good to see a smile on your face, my friend, instead of your usual scowl.”
Reider shrugged him off and stopped smiling. As they made their way to the lodge, he became lost in thoughts of treachery and vengeance, grieving for his father. He and Kjartan were soaked to the skin and panting hard when they ducked under the shelter of the low overhang in front of the wooden structure. Kjartan pulled off his sealskin hood and shook the rain from it. “What a storm!”
Reider stooped to unlace his wet boots, but Kjartan grasped his arm. “What’s that? Out there.” He pointed out to sea.
Reider squinted. The moon’s glow had transformed the driving rain to an impenetrable screen of silver. He shook his head.
Kjartan pointed again. “There. See. In the waves.”
Reider still saw nothing, but Kjartan was known to have exceptional eyesight, so he peered again.
Af Odin! It’s a ship. Surely Gorm would not pursue us in this storm? He’d have to be mad.
He indicated he had seen the ship.
Kjartan shoved his hood back on. “It’s not a Danish ship.”
The vessel was barely visible. How could Kjartan tell what kind of ship it was? The man had the eyes of an eagle.
Kjart
an stepped away from the overhang and called to Reider over his shoulder. “Get the men. Whoever is out there won’t survive this storm if we don’t help them. They are trying to make it to the shelter of our cove.”
Mindful of the unwritten law that men of the sea go without pause to the aid of those in peril on the waves, Reider strode into the lodge, grabbed the metal rod suspended from the tocsin by a strip of leather, and struck the triangular alarm repeatedly.
The men sprang to their feet, and within minutes had donned their foul weather gear. They followed Reider to the cove. Kjartan stood at the tiller. “Untie the moorings,” he yelled. “We’ll take this boat out. Someone get the sand out of the bottom, or none of us will survive. I need only one skeleton crew.”
Not one man withdrew. Kjartan barked out the names of the men who would accompany him. They scrambled aboard, grabbing oars and manning their positions. Reider shoved the boat off and leapt aboard, almost missing his footing as the boat rocked wildly in the swell.
Soon they were rowing hard to reach the distressed boat, muscles bulging with the strain, faces tense. The spray quickly had them drenched. Reider braced his legs at the prow, clinging on for dear life, praying the stout rope around his waist would be enough to secure him. The boat pitched and rolled.
As they neared the other boat, Reider saw that Kjartan had been right. The stricken vessel was not Danish—Norman perhaps? Wherever they had come from, they were being tossed like a cork on the snarling sea. They had lost their sail and steering oar by the look of it. The efforts of the few remaining oarsmen were getting them nowhere. She was a large boat, larger than the one that had come to her rescue.
The Danes came as close as they dared, but near enough to see the grim desperation on exhausted faces turn to open mouthed surprise when they espied the Danish longboat. Huddled figures clung to the mast, but any shelter had long since been lost to the wind.
Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection Page 71