by T S Florence
“We thought we would start since you have a girl with you,” she said.
“Go prepare some food damn you,” he said, eyeing them both.
“Yes Ragnar,” they said in unison.
Ragnar kicked the door open, annoyed at the attempted deceit by his own workers. Something would need to be done with them, he thought. Rose was already awake, standing at the end of the bed, looking at him curiously.
“Are you ready,” Ragnar’s voice was harsher than he intended.
“Ready for what,” Rose said, more than asked.
“Marriage,” Ragnar said.
“Not with you,” Rose said.
“Too bad,” Ragnar said.
“No,” Rose said.
“Why?” Ragnar asked.
“I want my mother there,” Rose said.
“Then we will go get her,” Ragnar said, stubbornly.
“Are you thick?” Rose clipped.
Ragnar was still not used to anyone having the balls to speak to him in such a way, and his hand twitched at the insult.
“Are you going to beat me for questioning your limited intelligence?” Rose laughed.
“Watch it,” Ragnar said.
Rose stormed towards him, until her face was level with his chest. She looked up at him “Or what, Ragnar? You’re not Ragnar the Destroyer to me, you’re still stupid Ragnar that didn’t know the worth of a broken axe,” Rose said.
“Prices don’t mean much when I take what I want,” Ragnar said, confused by the arousal he felt at her body touching his.
“Like me?” Rose clipped.
“Would you rather me pay?” Ragnar asked.
Before he could even sense the movement, Rose’s hand cracked across his face, the smack of her palm against his skin echoed down the hallway. “I would rather die than marry you,” Rose said, as tears formed in her eyes.
She pushed past him, and he knew instantly that he had taken it too far. He had taken the frustration that he felt with himself and thrown it back at the one girl who meant more to him than anything else in the world. It should be the two of them, together, not the two of them against each other.
Ragnar went to the chapel and told the priest he would not be converting to Christianity.
“The woman told you no, didn’t she?” The priest said.
“None of your damned business, priest,” Ragnar growled, as he turned around and walked back out the doors.
“You cannot speak to a son of God like that, don’t come back here in the hopes I will every marry you to a Christian girl now, heathen,” The priest ran to the door and shouted after Ragnar.
Ragnar went back to his house where he found Torsten laying in the grass with Rose’s friend, Brenna.
“Where is she?” Ragnar asked Brenna.
“I thought she was with you,” Brenna said.
Torsten stood up immediately, and brushed grass from himself. “She has gone missing?” He asked.
“More or less,” Ragnar said, looking around. He did a full sweep of his house before deducting that she had left again.
He went to the front of his Roman house and found that his horse had been taken.
“Where’s my horse, boy?” Ragnar growled at the stableboy.
“I saddled it for your lady. She took it,” the boy said, looking up at him innocently.
“What did I say about never letting another man take my horse?” Ragnar barked.
“Well she aint a man and I thought she was a special lady to you,” the boy replied.
“What do you mean, special?” Ragnar asked.
“Well she sleeps in your bed with you, don’t she?” The boy asked.
“Where did you hear this?” Ragnar said in a low voice.
“The walls speak,” the boy replied.
“Don’t repeat that horse dung that the maids use as an excuse to gossip about their masters. Where did you hear-” Ragnar stopped himself. The boy heard it from the maids, no doubt.
“Next time, you check with me before you let anyone take my horse. Including Rose, until I say otherwise,” Ragnar said, clipping the boy’s ear.
“Yes sir,” the boy rubbed his ear.
Ragnar turned on his heel and started the long walk to Ivar’s castle, but not before he was met by Torsten at the front gate. “Do you need me to come with you?” He asked.
“Not necessary,” Ragnar said.
Ragnar noticed more stares than usual as he made his way through Newcastle’s town centre. It was because he wasn’t on his horse, surely. There’s no way it was the news of Rose that caused such sudden interest in his movements.
“Stop staring,” Ragnar snapped at a staring fruiterer, as he stole an apple from his stand.
“That’s stealing, you’ll lose a hand for that,” the man said, although without confidence.
“Who’s going to take my hand?” Ragnar laughed as he kept walking, without looking back. He tried to imagine who would have the stones to confront him, let alone tell him they were to chop off his hand. Not a man in England would.
The man had no answer.
By the time he reached the castle, sweat was streaming down his back, his heavy leather-padded armour was trapping the heat.
“Where’s Rose?” Ragnar walked up to Ivar, who was in the front yard.
“She’s not here. You’ve lost her again?” Ivar had a confused look on his face.
“God’s teeth, where in Odin’s name is she,” Ragnar growled as he scanned the stables for his horse.
“You don’t trust your King’s word?” Ivar asked Ragnar, ribbing him.
“Not now, Ivar,” Ragnar said, before he turned and walked back out of the compound.
He took a different way home, where he would be more shielded from the sun. It was on his way home that he saw his horse, the great black beast, sitting unguarded outside of the blacksmith’s shelter. Ragnar felt like a fool for not checking there earlier.
He was still a distance away when he saw Rose hurriedly untie the horse from where it had been left. He quickened his pace, but still he did not reach her in time. She kicked hard into the horse’s sides, causing it to leap into action, galloping down the near-empty street.
He let her go, as he saw that she was riding back in the direction of his house.
Rose
“Where were you?” Ragnar asked, as he watched Rose pack her belongings into a small chest.
“Speaking to Isla,” Rose said.
He gave her a funny look at her answer, but said nothing to her response.
“Why are you packing?” He asked.
“I’m moving into the other room,” Rose said.
“You’re not leaving the house?” Ragnar asked, his expression softened.
“Where would I go?” Rose asked, certain that she would not be accepted into her family’s home, and not wanting to ask Isla for any more charity.
“With your mother,” Ragnar said, unhelpfully.
Rose scoffed, but rather than answer, she started to drag the chest from the room. Ragnar moved towards her and lifted the chest effortlessly.
“Show me where you want it, then,” Ragnar said.
Rose walked him to a room on the opposite side of the house, with no other room being any further.
“I’m going to pay rent,” Rose said.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m not a land owner charging you rent to set up shop” Ragnar sighed.
“I’m going to be storing wool here as well, so I will pay rent,” Rose said.
“Why would you be storing wool?” Ragnar looked at her cautiously.
“I’m going to sell wool. I want independence from you, Ragnar. I will not marry you. Not now, not ever,” She said, as she pushed him towards the door.
She did not stop to look at the expression on his face before she closed the door, shutting him out. She listened to his footsteps as he walked down the tiled hallway, before she crawled onto her bed and sobbed quietly to herself. Rose had been through a lot of turmoil and tra
gedy in her life, but one thing she had never felt before was rejection by loved ones. It was more painful than the long, cold trip across the ocean she was forced to take when she was just a child, before being sold as a slave. It was more painful than being left by Ragnar when he went to go and fight in other men’s wars. Even then, she didn’t feel rejected by him. Abandoned. But not rejected.
A knock at the door caused her to wipe her eyes with the linen blanket.
“Who is it?” Rose called.
“It’s me,” Brenna said, in her unmistakable Norse tongue.
“Come in,” Rose said.
“What’s the matter?” Brenna looked at Rose’s red, puffy eyes.
“I just thought it would have been a little easier coming back here, that’s all,” Rose said, quietly.
“I don’t mind the place,” Brenna surprised Rose with her reply.
“Is that because of a certain Torsten that is also here?” Rose laughed lightly.
“He might be a small, or big, part of it,” Brenna lay back on Rose’s bed. “I still have your coins by the way,” Brenna referred to the gold coins that Isla had given her the night before.
“Where to start,” Rose said, staring at mosaic the ceiling.
“Peasant farmers,” Brenna said.
“We will need a cart,” Rose said.
“Your brother is a blacksmith, ask him to make you one,” Brenna replied.
“I think it’s a carpenter I need for a cart,” Rose laughed.
“Hmm, the stable boy might know somebody, or otherwise I can speak to Torsten. You don’t want to ask Ragnar?” Brenna said.
“Definitely not. I’m doing this so he doesn’t have so much influence over me. I want this to be mine. Everything I’ve ever had since knowing Ragnar was technically his. I want this to be mine,” Rose said.
“I can understand that,” Brenna said.
[TIME STAMP HERE]
“You can get ‘em real cheap miss, I can go ask some friends for ya,” The stable boy said, as he worked on a mare’s hoof.
“That would be greatly appreciated, thank you,” Rose smiled as she handed the boy several coins for his effort.
“Miss,” the boy said with wide eyes, “this is more than my monthly wage.”
“You’re doing business, sometimes you earn more doing a single thing in business for yourself than you do in a month working for someone else,” Rose winked at the boy.
“I don’t understand, anyway, I’ll go speak to me friends,” The boy said earnestly.
Within a day, she had a cart stored in the stables. The cart had spokes from the wheels missing, which the boy said he could replace himself, with fresh wood. Some of the planks in the body of the cart were missing too, with rusted nails pointing through the floor. Again, the boy offered to fix these. The boy had taken a liking to Rose, likely because of her generosity in paying him for his services.
After the boy mended the cart, it would be big enough to carry all the wool she could find. Ragnar had been growling at her for the last two days, ever since she shut the door in his face, telling her that she was a woman and that women don’t do business. But she ignored him. She told him that she would prove him wrong, but only if he would let her use one of his mares.
“You haven’t asked any other time you’ve taken one of my horses, including my own war horse, why do you decide to ask now?” Ragnar laughed at her question.
“Because I will be using it for business, and I will pay you,” Rose said, as she fidgeted with the small bag of coins.
“If I wanted your money I would take it from you,” Ragnar said eyeing the bag.
“I know,” Rose rolled her eyes.
“Use the damn mare,” Ragnar had growled.
“Payment, for the first month,” Rose handed the bag towards Ragnar.
“I don’t want your money. We will still be married eventually, and taking your money would not be husbandly,” Ragnar said.
“We are not getting married,” Rose’s nostrils flared.
“We will. You have no father who will give you away, so I will take you,” Ragnar said, moving closer to her.
“What if I don’t want to marry you?” Rose said back, her insides warming at the feeling of his body warmth.
Ragnar’s lip twitched at Rose’s comment. “Do you?” He growled.
“No,” Rose said, matter of factly.
“Then you can buy your own freedom,” Ragnar said, as he took the bag of coins from Hilda’s hand.
“Excuse me?” Rose snapped.
“I never officially freed you,” Ragnar said.
“You never officially bought me, either,” Rose felt her face beginning to go red from anger.
“Yes I did, on the shores of Fyrkat,” Ragnar said.
“Your father did, not you,” Rose said.
“And I inherit all from my father. His property, by extension, is my own property. And he never freed you either,” Ragnar was now standing so close that Rose was backed against a wall, her head to turn upwards, just to meet his eyes.
Even despite his harsh words and his physical intimidation, Rose couldn’t help but notice his devastating looks, his hard, blue eyes, the scar that ran down his face, lining his battle hardened expression like a picture frame. Picture perfect.
Grab me. Take me. Rose thought to herself, as her breath began to turn ragged. Ragnar took a hand and put it between her legs, as if testing a piece of fruit in the markets, a peach, to see if it was soft enough to eat.
“And you want me, still. But you don’t want to marry,” Ragnar said, eyeing her.
“I would not marry you without Elder Ragnar’s blessing. So go to your hell and drink with your stupid gods,” Rose said, suddenly embarrassed.
Ragnar let go of her more quickly than he had grabbed her, and turned on his heel, leaving with the payment for his mare.
“I’m doubling the payment of the mare. This is the first two weeks’ payment only,” Ragnar called out, his baritone voice echoing out through the halls.
“Bastard,” Rose said, under her breath.
[TIME STAMP HERE]
“He doubled the payment of the mare, after he already took your money,” Brenna gasped, “does he need the money?” She asked, confused.
Her question almost caused Rose to laugh, but her anger, still present from the exchange, managed to take priority. “It isn’t about money. A man like Ragnar does not think about money. If he needs something, he takes it,” Rose huffed.
“Then why would he make you pay if he loves you?” Brenna asked.
“He doesn’t love me. It’s about control. Power. He is regretting his choice to free me, so now he is saying that I need to buy my own freedom. He doesn’t like that he can’t control me now. Not that he did before. I have always been in charge,” Rose said, rolling her eyes.
“He wants to control you?” Brenna said, scratching her chin.
“I doubt he even understands what he’s doing. Anyway, I’m going to pay Ragnar, and then watch him suffer when he no longer has any control over me” Rose said. “And don’t tell Torsten,” Rose said, taking Brenna’s hand.
“But we tell each other everything,” Brenna said, looking into Rose’s eyes.
“Brenna, he will tell Ragnar immediately. He is one of his blood warriors,” Rose pleaded.
“Very well. I suppose this is more your secret than it is mine,” Brenna said, smiling. “But,” Brenna began.
“What?” Rose half sighed, half laughed.
“Your anger seems a little, I don’t know. Is this just about Ragnar, or is it something else?” Brenna asked.
“It’s Ragnar. It’s all Ragnar’s fault,” Rose said, looking at the floor.
[TIME STAMP HERE]
“I cannot believe he does not trust us to go alone,” Rose fumed, as they sat at the front of the horse-drawn cart.
“Rose, please, he’s not exactly annoying us,” Brenna sighed, looking back at Torsten, who followed them from ten paces away.
“We aren’t going to run into trouble out on sheep farms,” Rose laughed.
“I don’t mind that he’s here,” Brenna said.