Viking's Claim

by Madison Faye

  “Did you think I wouldn’t come for you? That I wouldn’t still marry you?”

  My eyes go wide, staring in horror at him over the mouth over my mouth.

  Lord Chauntleroy sneers. “Oh, I don’t want you after you’ve been defiled by those animals. But I’ll still be marrying you. A merger of our families is too important to me to let you just run off to be a savage’s slut.”

  I scream into the hand, fighting to break free and lunging in the direction of the camp, but it’s useless.

  Chauntleroy spits in disgust. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. My castle has a stable, or perhaps a kennel where I’m sure you could amuse yourself.”

  His men laugh, and the tears start to trickle down my cheeks as we march out of the woods to a group of horses and a wagon. The men throw me into the back of it, and just before I scream, another jumps in and clamps a gag around my mouth.

  “Come, fiancée,” Chauntleroy sneers. “Time to go.”

  Chapter 13

  Tor

  There’s a rage in me. A beast that struggles to tear it’s way free, consume me, and set itself loose on the world. This is a constant thing. The beast is always there when I’m charging into a battle or swinging a sword or axe. It’s there with the smell of death that hangs over a fight. At times, he comes close to breaking free. Sometimes, I can feel my control over that beast wavering, it’s teeth and claws coming through in the heat of a battle.

  Mostly, he stays locked away. Because I know freeing the demon inside of me would be the end of me. Objectively, I’m a bad man. I’ve killed, stolen, destroyed, burned, and pillaged my way through the last twenty-odd years, and though I don’t believe in the highlander’s approach to a single God and all the circus that comes with it, if there is a hell, there’ll be a special throne with my name on it when death finally claims me.

  But that said, I’ve strived to be good to those who aren’t my enemy. I’ve made myself just and fair to my own people—a steady hand to rule, and a steady head to keep the peace. After all, it’s not as if being the one in charge of a whole band of blood and plunder-thirsty marauders is a simple task. I’ve strived to be good, but I know letting that demon inside of me out to run as he will would be the end of that goodness. Letting him out would be unleashing a monster on the world, which is why I’ve done my best to keep him contained all these years.

  …Right now, I’m not sure how much longer “my best” will hold him back.

  Fury blazes through me, my jaw grinding my teeth tightly as I pace the clearing in the woods, surrounded by the crumbling remains of a long-forgotten castle or outpost. I wonder briefly if ancestors of mine were the cause of its demise.

  Rhona is gone.

  I whirl, snarling as the thought blazes through me. She’s gone—taken from me last night. And I know who’s taken her, too—that weasel who she was meant to marry, Lord Chauntleroy. It didn’t take long to follow her trail into the woods when I realized she was gone this morning. When it ran cold, with no sign of her, I’d screamed for Ivar—a master tracker. The man could track an owl on a cloudy, moonless night. It was he who picked up the other boot prints. He who showed the scuff marks in the dirt of her heels, showing she’d been dragged. And when we found the horse tracks, and the faintest little sliver of blue and yellow tartan from the fringe of a crest or flag, the last piece clicked into place.

  The sniveling little lordling I’d stolen her from had come back for her, and now he has what’s mine in his possession.

  …And there’s going to be hell to pay when I catch up with him.

  That’s why I’m here, pacing this spot, waiting for the others to arrive. It’s why I’ve bitten back every single thing I know and swallowed my wrath to reach out to those I would otherwise call enemy. Those I’ve fought. Those who’s men I’ve killed, and who’ve killed men of mine. I could dwell on the bloodshed and hold them to this forever feud. But none of it matters anymore. Not when Rhona’s been taken.

  As I said, for her, I’d give it all up. Glory, treasure, pride, all of it. And right now, I’m willing to do anything. I’ll lay down my own life as forfeit if that’s what it takes.

  “Tor.”

  Erik growls my name as he slips through the trees. He’s been out scouting, and him being back with that hard look in his eyes can only mean one thing: the men I’ve sent for via raven are almost here.

  “They’re coming,” he mutters, scowling. He’s not entirely good with this idea. None of them are. Hell, neither am I. But it’s what is necessary to get back my one and only—my heart.

  My men and women are fierce. They’re the strongest, most fearless, most savage warriors a man could ask for to charge into battle with, and I’m proud to call them my brothers and sisters. And in a surprise attack from the sea, we’re nigh unstoppable—a force from hell. A fist of fury ready smash anything and everything in our path to glory and riches.

  …But we are not an army. That’s the reality, and though it’s a hard truth to swallow, swallow it I must. In a full-on, pitched battle against Lord Chauntleroy, inland at his own castle, away from our ships and the ocean? We wouldn’t last an hour.

  That’s why I’ve called for them.

  There’s the sound of horses coming through the woods, and when they enter the little clearing, I can feel my friends bristle behind me. I’ve just brought my immediate circle of Bjorn, Ivar, Erik, and Freya, and they’ve brought equal number.

  The horses stop a few yards away, and as they dismount, you can feel the tension burning fiercely through the small clearing.

  “Give me a reason.”

  Lord Hamish Ballentyne growls the words as he dismounts, his eyes fierce and narrowed at me.

  “A reason for what, my lord,” I drawl out the title, smirking as I make a big show of bowing comically low. Behind me, my friends snicker. Lord Hamish and the other highlanders who’ve just arrived don’t look amused.

  “Not to kill you right here and now,” he hisses.

  His friends dismount as well—Lord Malcolm McAuley, Lord Callum Bruce, and Callum’s father-in-law, Lord Lachlan McDougall. And I notice that they’re all armed.

  I don’t blame them. So are we.

  “Because,” I smile thinly. “Because I can give you what you want.”

  “Which is?” Callum growls dangerously, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

  “Peace. Peace and a complete end to the marauding up and down your shores, forever.”

  Callum arches a brow. Hamish’s gaze narrows at me.

  “Killing you could solve that problem too.”

  I smile at him. “Aye, but you’d never be able to kill me, little highlander.”

  Rage clouds his face, and he snarls as his hand tightens around the grip of his sword. But Malcolm steadies him, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head as he mutters something. Malcolm turns to me, folding his arms over his chest.

  “If I have this right, you want our help in stealing a highland girl away from the highlander lord who she’s betrothed to marry. A lord she was in fact going to marry just the other day before it was you who stole her to do gods only know what wi—”

  “Mind your words, highlander,” I hiss dangerously, unsheathing my broadsword in one sweep of my arm. The men instantly reach for theirs, before Freya swears viciously and steps between us all.

  “Enough!” She spits, eying each of us. “Enough, put the blades away.”

  “Speak, Norseman.”

  Lachlan McDougall’s deep, rumbling baritone thunders through the air around us, a hand coming up to stroke his thick, silvered beard as he eyes me. We’ve fought before on occasion, when he came roaring in to the rescue of a village near his lands that I was attacking. He’s a large man, almost as big as me. And despite his older age, the man is in peak fighting condition—big arms, broad shoulders, and a fierceness in his eyes. Truth be told, of all of them, it’s the man fifteen years my senior I’d be the least inclined to want to fight one-to-one.

  �
�Aside from Rhona being a friend of my daughter’s and these men’s’ wives, why would we possible join forces with a known murderer and terrorist.”

  “Two reasons,” I growl, raking my fingers over my beard. “One, because if you help me, you will have peace in these lands.”

  “Meaning you’ll leave these shores?” Malcolm eyes me.

  I turn, glancing at my friends before I turn back and smile.

  “More like the opposite.”

  The four of them glance at each other questioningly.

  “I’m planning on settling—here, on these very shores.”

  Four jaws drop. Four sets of eyes go wide in disbelief and anger.

  “Is this a joke?”

  I shake my head at Malcolm.

  “Nay, no joke. My people and I are done with the marauding life, and through with the violence. But doing so means we can’t return home. Not with the current king we have. All we want is land to call our own—to farm, to settle. To raise our families here.”

  Hamish barks out a laugh.

  “You’ve gone mad, devil. You think you can land on these shores after years of attacking them, and then take land and call it your own?”

  “The land I’ve found belongs to no one, actually,” I throw back. “And the past is the past. You’ve killed my men; I’ve killed your people. It’s over though.”

  “The hell it is,” he hisses.

  “So this is your bargaining chip?” Callum nods at me. “We help you take Rhona back from Chauntleroy, and your offer is to then settle on our very shores?”

  “And to stop the marauding, yes.”

  Callum snorts, shaking his head as he looks away.

  “You’ve got some balls, Viking.”

  “Would you care to see them, little lordling?”

  He glares at me, and I grin.

  “Rhona is with her betrothed,” Lachlan tosses out. “You may not like the idea, or the man, but she is promised to—”

  “She’s my wife.”

  The clearing goes silent, and I can hear Bjorn groan behind me. We’ve previously decided to hold back until later to tell anyone about that particular detail, but I know it needs saying, and I don’t wish I could take it back. I want them to know the she’s mine. Not just a conquest, or a girl I’ve stolen and bedded. I want them to know she’s my entire world.

  “Your…” Malcolm stares at me in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

  “Do I look like a man who makes jokes, Lord McAuley?”

  The four of them glance at each other, the tension rising for a minute before Callum turns back to me, eyeing me.

  “You mentioned two reasons. Speak your second.”

  I smile. This is the fun part. Because if the other offer didn’t entice them, I know full well they’ll never be able to ignore this one.

  “Because Lord Chauntleroy is plotting to raise a mercenary army and take over your lands.”

  The men stare at me.

  “That’s preposterous,” Lachlan mutters. “Lord Chauntleroy’s family goes back generations in the highlands. He would never dream to—”

  “I have proof.”

  I turn, nodding at Erik, who grins and pulls a few folded letters out of his furs. He hands them out, and it’s Lachlan himself who strides forward to pluck them away. His eyes sweep over them, and I watch as his jaw tightens.

  “These are real?”

  I nod. “They appear to be, yes. We took them out of a chest from a boat we commandeered a couple of months ago.”

  Hamish frowns. “What is it?”

  “Proof,” Lachlan mutters, handing the papers over to Hamish. “A correspondence detailing the hiring of the private army and who’s lands he’s going after first.”

  Hamish swears. “Callum first, by the looks of it.”

  Callum yanks the pages out of Hamish’s hands and mutters viciously when he reads it over.

  “That’s Chauntleroy’s crest,” he growls. “The backstabbing little fuck.”

  The four of them eye me, brows furrowed like they’re thinking it through.

  “And what stops us from taking this information and dealing with Chauntleroy ourselves, without helping you?” Malcolm finally speaks.

  I smile. “Aside from telling your wives that you refused to help their friend after she was kidnapped by that little weasel?” I spread my hands wide. “Other than that, because I can promise to stop the attacks. Because if you help me, no Norseman will attack these lands again.”

  “That sounds like blackmail,” Lachlan mutters.

  “It sounds like a good deal, for all of us,” I growl. “My lord.”

  “And yet, you’re still a man who’s taken a girl from her lawfully promised lord and husband.”

  I smirk at Lachlan before swiveling my eyes to land on Malcolm.

  “If the rumors are to be believed, it doesn’t sound like I’m the only man present who’s guilty of that.”

  They’re silent again, contemplating it. Hamish shakes his head, glaring at me.

  “You tried to sack my castle; you devil.”

  I grin, shrugging. “You’ve got a nice castle. Take is as compliment.”

  Hamish’s brow darkens.

  “How about I take your head instead?”

  My smile thins as I reach for my sword. “How about you try to?”

  “Easy,” Callum growls, scowling at both me and his friend, his hands raised.

  Hamish spits at the ground between us.

  “Well, it was a fruitless attempt. Dungow has never been taken.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  “Except you failed, Norseman.”

  I grin. “Did I?”

  I may not have walked away with riches or glory that day, but ultimately, the real treasure was Rhona. The real prize was the auburn-haired goddess I walked in on alone and wide-eyed. The girl who captivated me and stole my heart.

  “When your fleet attacked the men trying to attack my castle that night of my wedding,” Malcolm says lowly. “I couldn’t make sense of a Viking marauder fleet coming to our rescue, not trying to burn my castle to the ground.”

  He eyes Tor.

  “It was to protect Rhona, wasn’t it?”

  My jaw tightens as I nod.

  “Aye, it was.”

  Malcolm nods slowly before he sighs and shakes his head.

  “Fuck it, I’m in.”

  “Aye, and me,” Callum nods. “My men will be mine to command, but we’ll join you in attacking Chauntleroy’s castle.

  Lachlan pauses, mulling it over before he glances at his son-in-law and takes a deep breath. “You’ll have my aid as well, Norseman. But know that we’ll need to speak further of these lands you plan on settling your horde on.”

  I can hear my friends snort behind me at the thin insult, but they thankfully keep their mouths shut.

  Finally, it’s Hamish who takes a deep breath, eyeing me through a furrowed brow as he taps his fingers against the pommel of his sword.

  “You killed some of my men that day, you know.”

  “Would recitations to their widows and families help?”

  “It would,” he spits back.

  “Then it’s done. They were soldiers though, Lord Hamish. And they died doing their duty, protecting your castle. There’s no better death than that.”

  Hamish glares at me.

  “You also killed some of mine, for what it’s worth.”

  “Don’t even think of asking me for restitutions, Norseman,” he growls, a warning in his voice.

  I smile, shaking my head. “None is asked. I’m not looking to be your friend, Lord Hamish, but I am looking to be your ally.”

  Hamish glances at his friends, who each nod in turn, before he finally turns back to me.

  “Aye,” he growls. “I can do allies.”

  I smile as I grip his hand firmly, shaking on it.

  “We ride immediately, and my people will need horses.”

  Lachlan nods. “I’ve got plenty in my s
table. I’ll send a man ahead to ready them. You three, ride back and ready your men, and we’ll meet at my castle before marching on Chauntleroy.”

  Callum nods at me. “You’ve married Rhona?”

  “I have.”

  He nods, holding my gaze. “Then I’ll take you as that man, not the one from before. Don’t make us regret this, or you will.”

  I shake my head. “All I want is my Rhona back,” I growl. “The rest is in the past, for all of us.”

  He nods, and when he reaches out, I shake his hand. I do the same to Malcolm and Lachlan before they turn to ride off to their own castles to ready their troops.

  Now, it’s time for war.

  “Ready our people,” I growl, watching as my strange new allies gallop away.

  I turn to my friends, half excepting scolds of disproval. But instead, I just get a clap on the shoulder from Bjorn as he chuckles deeply.

  “What?”

  “You, a regular fucking politician,” he chuckles.

  Freya laughs. “What’s your next magic trick, Tor? Are you going to pull a bird out of your ear? Turn water to wine?”

  I roll my eyes at them, “Are you with me or not?”

  The humor fades instantly, as the hungry yearning for battle that I know and recognize spreads over all of their faces.

  “Until Valhalla, my jarl,” Erik growls, grinning hungrily as he hefts his sword. “Let’s go take your woman back.”

  Chapter 14

  Rhona

  My pulse races. My body strains at the binds tying me to the chair, but it’s useless. For the second time in as many days, I find myself tied up by a man. Though this time doesn’t carry the undercurrent of heat and desire the first one did. Chauntleroy tying me up is a fear and intimidation tactic. With Tor, it was foreplay.

  Chauntleroy himself is pacing his chambers in front of me, looking deranged as he slugs back goblet after goblet of wine. He’s been at it for hours, pacing and drinking and occasionally muttering vile things at me. And I want to think that any moment, my Viking will come for me, but I’m slowly starting to realize how far-fetched a hope that is. Tor might be infamously savage and effective at attacking the coasts, under the element of surprise. But Chauntleroy’s castle is far inland, and heavily, heavily fortified. It would take an army trained in the art of attacking a castle to come for me, and even if I wish it were true, I’m not sure if a ragged band of Viking marauders without armor, or siege weapons, is capable of it.