Torn Avenger

by Lea Bronsen

  TORN AVENGER

  A Dark Viking Romance

  By

  LEA BRONSEN

  COPYRIGHTS

  Torn Avenger

  Published by Writers in Crime

  Copyright © 2017 Lea Bronsen

  ISBN: 9781370440276

  Editor: D.C. Stone

  Cover art: Simply Defined Art

  All Rights Reserved

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names and characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Adult reading material.

  To my daughters

  Your unconditional love is what keeps me going.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Note to my Readers

  Reviews

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Lea Bronsen

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book wouldn’t be publishable without the kind and constructive feedback from my ever-faithful beta readers Desi, Doris, and Aaron. I owe you guys.

  NOTE TO MY READERS

  As a reader myself, I appreciate historical accuracy. I don’t continuously go and check facts, but I like to have the feeling that what I’m reading, albeit fictive, has a certain level of realism. With that in mind, writing Torn Avenger was problematic.

  Firstly, I wanted to set the story in a real period in history. Alv was to represent the last of the Viking raiders, and Roeland the first of European merchants to settle in Norway. According to local sources, although the Hanseatic League established a bureau in Bjorgvin (known today as Bergen) in 1360, trading may have started as early as the 1020s, while it is estimated that the Viking age of conquests and pillage ended late in the 11th century. Two strong civilizations met in that glimpse of time, one fading and the other blossoming, and that’s when my main characters’ fates were interwoven.

  Secondly, I wondered whether the Norwegians and their European “invaders” co-lived in peace or bloody confrontations occurred. I combed the internet, but couldn’t find any information, surprisingly. However, I thought it quite probable that some Vikings, tempted by the precious goods imported into Bjorgvin and the wealth of their merchants, raided the trading post the same way they were reputed to in the rest of the world. Why wouldn’t they?

  So, on the subject of historical accuracy, the setting of Torn Avenger probably hits the mark, but the drama that unfolds is based entirely on speculation.

  I hope you enjoy the read!

  ~Lea

  REVIEWS

  “Utterly gripping storytelling, and so very emotional. Suffice to say the reader is in for a hell of a rollercoaster ride.”

  “I love the twist and turns, the heat, the believable emotions. I felt every single one of them as I read through this.”

  “This is a fantastic, sensual and emotional M/M historical romance.”

  “At times dark, barbaric, and intense love story.”

  “Roeland van Dijk and Alv Gunnulfsen are amazing characters.”

  “Grab this one up, it’s short and will fill a cold afternoon very nicely.”

  “That was a wonderful written story. Dark, strong, and unpredictable. All personalities were amazing. It was like a movie before my eyes.”

  “This is well written and includes what I would expect from a tale of marauding Vikings. Lots of blood, gore, raping and pillaging!”

  “I was amazed by the story and just couldn’t get enough of the book.”

  “The author did great giving motive and distinguishing characters.”

  “Alv & Roeland are great characters you can’t help but to fall in love with. You will not be disappointed with this FANTASTIC story of sweet love & HEA!”

  “The story was solid enough to deserve 4 stars, which is a strong testament to the book’s high quality and enjoyment factor.”

  “The characters were vividly drawn, and I got sucked in!”

  “Clash of cultures, struggle to be oneself, secrets and misunderstandings, family bonds and new unexpected relationships. Well written from both POVs, with strong side characters.”

  “Very well written and I would totally read something by this author again.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Norway, anno 1031

  Thumping and smashing sounded outside. And yelling.

  What the—?

  Startled, Roeland van Dijk dropped his feather pen to the desk, jumped from his chair, and hurried to a window.

  Outside, blond men in armor ran between houses on the wooden quay below, shouting Norse words, their faces contorted in crazed anger, sharp blades in the air reflecting sunlight.

  No!

  He froze, his lungs slowly sucking air. The blood drained from his head.

  He’d heard of these savages, the Vikings. He’d never seen them, but rumor from Europe had it they pillaged and ravaged and killed everything in their path. They were cold-hearted conquerors and blood-thirsty thieves hunting land, riches, food, and slaves.

  God, it was over. So soon.

  Life could have been easy. As a second-generation Dutch merchant settled in the peaceful creek of Bjorgvin on the coast of Norway, Roeland had everything he needed to be happy. A three-story house with enough room for a wide range of goods from all over the world. A fortune he’d inherited from his late father, who had started this lucrative business a decade ago. A beautiful, loving wife, with a child on the way.

  Hilda!

  She was downstairs at the counter. The savages could barge in anytime.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose. Imagining her in distress helped summon strength, and act. He spun, grabbed his sword hanging on a wall, and jumped more than he climbed down the wooden stairs to the first floor. He wasn’t the best of warriors, but he had trained sword fighting in his youth and would protect his loved one to the death.

  He landed at the bottom of the stairs and swept his shop. Shelves overfilled with merchandise aligned the walls from floor to ceiling. Behind the counter, the sweet face he adored stared back, livid, eyes bulging, her mouth open in a silent scream.

  “Come.” With his free hand, he caught her arm and dragged the heavily pregnant woman past bags and boxes to a store room in the back.

  “What about the money?” she asked, voice squeaky.

  “Our lives are more important.” If he left everything behind, the Vikings wouldn’t bother to search for the owners and kill them.

  He closed the door, dropped to his knees, and pulled hard at an iron ring attached to a floorboard. The trap lifted, revealing an opening wide enough for a person to climb through. Stairs led to the rocky ground about a meter underneath. The salty smell of sea, algae, and wet stone drifted up. The entire wharf had been built on pillars to prevent floods and storm waves from reaching the buildings, and while the area beneath was unaccommodated and too dangerous to stay, it would do for a momentary hiding place.

  A loud bang at the front of the house. The door had been slammed open.

  Hilda gasped.

  Roeland went ice cold, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over his head.

  Hurry!

  “
Go first.” He pushed her to the stairs. They didn’t have a second to lose. “Careful. Don’t slip.”

  “D-dear God.” She shook with fear, but managed to press her big belly through the opening and climb down, clutching the sides of the stairs for dear life. Sword in hand, he followed her and closed the trap over his head.

  Safe.

  For now.

  His shoes touched the bottom and he crouched in the low, dark area underneath the house. Humid, chilly air brushed his skin. He squinted to see. Some light snuck in between the thick pillars and the shapes of moored ship hulls by the quay. They weren’t alone; several neighbors had sought refuge nearby, their familiar faces tense of anxiety.

  With a grimace, Hilda sat directly on the cold, hard rock, holding her big stomach. Her chest heaved as if she’d run a mile, and long brown hair glued to her sweaty temples.

  Heavy footfalls sounded above, then excited male voices, slamming, furniture thrown about…each noise startling his fragile woman.

  God, please don’t let the stress provoke a premature labor.

  Roeland put his sword on the ground, squatted with his knees encircling hers, and wrapped his arms around her to console. “We’ll be okay. They just want the money.”

  She nodded, but trembled in his embrace and looked as though she could faint anytime.

  He rested his forehead against hers and spoke to her mouth. “Where’s Elke?” He hadn’t seen his sister, who lived with them, in the past hour.

  “She went to Silje’s to buy more fabric for her new dress.” With each word, Hilda blew faint puffs of warm breath to his lips. A sign of life that he cherished in this very moment. If they had to die, they would die together.

  Silje? He cursed inwardly. The old widow lived alone in a small hut behind the merchant houses. So damn exposed… “I have to go.” He wanted to stay near his wife, but needed to find his eighteen-year-old sister. When Dad died, Roeland had promised he would take care of her.

  “Don’t.” A look of terror on her face, Hilda put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Please. Don’t leave me alone.”

  “I have to.” He kissed her. “Be well, my dear. Go to the neighbors.” He nodded in direction of the people sitting underneath the next house. “They’ll help you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He kissed her again. “I love you. You’re my life.”

  He rose, but she reached out to him, tears filling her eyes. “No! Roeland!”

  “Ssh.” He put a finger to his lips. “I’ll be back.”

  Leaving her pained him, but he had no time to waste. He picked up his sword and, crouching low, moved toward the boats. The ground went downhill and disappeared into a black liquid with small rippling waves reflecting light. Still underneath the quay, he slid on the slippery algae-covered stone, waded into the cold water until it reached his waist, then swam without a sound, his sword in the air. Trampling above resonated in the thick wood boards.

  As he reached the ships, the shining sun blinded him. He swam to a low rowing boat, grabbed the railing, and hoisted himself, careful to avoid making noises. Onboard, he sought balance in the small dancing boat and straightened to peek over the quay, at the row of aligned houses.

  Deserted. Had they already looted everything and left? The place looked as though a storm had hit the small community of Bjorgvin. Doors were smashed, broken goods lay scattered. He hoped nobody had been killed.

  He had to find Elke. She was young and pretty, a slim figure with feminine forms, cascading black hair—highly unusual in Norway—and a flirtatious smile. And she loved her colorful dresses of Asian silk. The Vikings wouldn’t hesitate to make her theirs and steal every bit of her beauty and pride.

  He clenched his teeth. Never.

  He found an old rope ladder hanging from the quay and climbed it, ignoring the sting from hard fibers digging into his skin. He was about to step up onto the quay when a door flung open from one of the nearest houses. He ducked just as two blond men came out with goods in their arms. They cheered and laughed, their jubilating sending shivers down his spine. Everything he’d fought for, everything he’d built—and Dad before him—had to have been destroyed or stolen. Immense sadness invaded him.

  At least, Hilda and he were alive. That was what mattered. They would rebuild their lives. Now on to find Elke…

  The thieves disappeared, and he seized the chance to jump up on the quay and ran toward a narrow passageway between two houses.

  More cheering came from another quarter. Heavy furniture crashed into the ground somewhere, probably thrown out of a window.

  At the end of the alley stood a second row of gable-wall merchant houses. Behind these, smaller huts for the lesser wealthy, and a strip of farmland surrounded by seven looming mountaintops—Bjorgvin was called "the green meadow among the mountains" for a good reason.

  Whimpering stopped him in his track. A feminine plea. Close by.

  Filling with dread, he turned to where the sound had come from and, sword brandished, stepped quietly on the hard earth.

  Another whimper broke the silence, and male groaning. Behind a house.

  He plastered himself against the thick boards of a wall and peeked past the corner. What he saw punched the air out of his lungs. A broad-shouldered man knelt between a woman’s spread legs on the ground. She laid on her back and pleaded, voice sounding like a hurt animal. From his quick back-and-forth moves, the man thrusted inside her. Raped her. But what shook Roeland to the deepest of his being was the color of the woman’s hair. Her face was hidden by the man’s shoulders, but the cascade of black hair revealed her identity.

  Elke. My baby sister.

  An angry growl erupted from within. He held his sword two-handed and lifted.

  The man stopped thrusting and turned, his wild gaze a clear blue, blond hair disheveled. At the same time, Elke’s bloody mouth and nose appeared behind him. Her big, black eyes found Roeland’s and conveyed the terror she lived.

  Roeland saw red, his sister’s blood filling his vision. He hadn’t been able to protect her. He’d failed.

  Growling again, he swung his sword high and sent the sharp blade to the rapist’s throat with all of his strength, separating the head from the torso with a loud chuck!

  Blood sprayed to all sides.

  Elke shrieked.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Joyous cheers awoke Alv Gunnulfsen. He opened his eyes and blinked from the morning light streaming through a small window. A head of short-cropped hair blocked his view. Beside him, the bony shape of his slave, Hedin, rose and sank peacefully with each breath.

  Alv lifted his head off the mattress of fur and hay and listened.

  Outside, someone shouted, “A boat is coming!” Quick footfalls sounded on the earth path that passed his house.

  A boat? It had to be his older brother Joar, returning from war. Finally!

  Hedin stretched and emitted a lazy moan. “What’s going on?”

  Alv dislocated from him and immediately regretted losing his lover’s bodily warmth. “Joar is back. I think.” He gave Hedin a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, sat on the side of the mattress, and collected his clothes—loose pants and a light coat made of gray fox fur.

  “You care more about him than about me,” Hedin teased with a grin.

  “Pfft.” Alv mock-slapped his arm. “You know well there is only man in my life, and that’s you.”

  As the second son of Norse earl Gunnulf Haraldsen, he could live the way he wanted. He wasn’t going to inherit anything, so he wasn’t expected to do anything either, like preparing for war or marrying a woman. As long as he behaved in a manly enough manner among others—though that wasn’t strictly required for a medicine man—and contributed to the village life, no one questioned who he slept with.

  His heart raced with excitement at the thought of seeing his brother again. It had been several weeks. Though Joar was the favorite son of their parents, and the two brothers were as different as brothers could be—twenty-three-year-old Joar
big and strong as a bear, and twenty-one-year-old Alv thin and lanky—they had always loved and stood up for each other.

  Joar was the village champion, a cunning, fearless conqueror on the prowl for more land, more slaves, more food, and more people to pay rent for living on his land. High on previous successes, Joar and his men had decided to attack a new trading settlement north of their village. Some of the people in Bjorgvin had recently emigrated from Europe to exchange goods for dried cod. Seizing their lot of uncommon merchandise would give Joar a solid reputation and esteem among the neighbor earls, and word might even reach King Knútr himself.

  Alv didn’t care for reputation or esteem. He had always lived in the shadow of his older brother and didn’t mind his position of unimportant, second-rank son. Some may consider him a weakling for avoiding fights and conquests, but the truth was he refused to have someone’s blood on his hands. He wanted peace, stability. He enjoyed his medicine man apprenticeship, practicing sports, playing games with friends, and drinking mjød until long after the big, red sun had descended beneath the horizon in the West.