Viking Betrayed (Viking Roots Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  He smiled weakly and left reluctantly.

  Bryk and Cathryn Kriger led the way into Montdebryk. Dag, Judith and Katarina followed, arm in arm. The large hall was constructed entirely of stone, but it was a warm, welcoming place, despite that no fire blazed in either of the massive hearths. The floor was strewn with sweet smelling rushes. Embroidered banners hung in the rafters, wafting in the warm summer air.

  She had a strange feeling of homecoming.

  However, she was confused. She’d expected Magnus’s Viking father to be stern and hostile, and his mother the one to make her feel at home. The opposite seemed to be the case.

  Katarina disappeared.

  Dag chattered on, evidently trying to put her at ease, then smiled broadly when a man and a woman entered the hall. “Ah! Two more members of the family you must meet,” he declared.

  The man came forward to greet her. He looked familiar. “Welcome. I am Torstein Kriger, and this is my wife, Sonja. I believe you met Bendik in Ponthieu.”

  “He’s our son,” Sonja explained, embracing Judith warmly.

  The resemblance was unmistakable. Bendik had inherited his father’s wiry frame and dark coloring. “Yes. He’s a fine young man.”

  As if sensing her next question, Torstein said, “I am the comte’s nephew and Seneschal here. Don’t be concerned for your maidservant. She has been directed to your chamber.”

  Relief threatened to buckle her knees. They didn’t intend to throw her into a cell. “Thank you,” she murmured. “We have a wagon. Bendik is—”

  “They haven’t arrived yet,” Torstein interrupted. “Probably another day. Overland takes longer, especially with a wagon.”

  Dag escorted her to a chair, one of far better quality than her father’s dilapidated piece. She had left some of the more useless belongings behind in Saint Riquier, and wished she’d abandoned everything now. How to explain the old chair, and where was she to put it?

  She was dismayed when everyone else remained standing. She crossed her ankles beneath her skirts, squeezed her knees together and laced her fingers together in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she repeated over and over in the back of her mind, descendant of Charlemagne, descendant of Charlemagne.

  The comte began the interview, his voice deep, but not threatening. “My lady Judith, will your brother pay the ransom?”

  Dag stood behind her chair, and she appreciated his support, but wished Magnus was present to guide her.

  “No,” she replied truthfully. “He will not.”

  “Why would a nobleman not pay for the safe return of his sister? It’s the normal course of events in any conflict when a captive—”

  He stopped abruptly when his wife coughed loudly. Judith wondered about the strange look they exchanged, but had to decide quickly whether to tell the whole truth. “I am Arnulf’s half-sister,” she said, hoping that would end the matter.

  However, her hopes fell when the comte persisted. “But he loves you. You have been part of his household since birth. Perhaps he will not pay because he plans to retake Montreuil and hopes to rescue you.”

  “We are a long way from Montreuil,” she said hoarsely, reluctant to admit she feared she was the last thing on her loving brother’s mind. She was certain he would try to recapture Montreuil, but would not betray him to the enemy. “I am not privy to his plans.”

  “Do you wish to be ransomed?”

  Cathryn Kriger had spoken so softly, Judith thought she’d misheard. She looked up into the woman’s eyes, knowing for certain this devout woman would recognize a lie. “My maid and I have been well treated,” she said.

  “And what of your husband?”

  This time there was no mistaking the censure in the Comtesse’s question.

  “Theodoric is confined to the archbishop’s house in Rouen.”

  “We are aware of this,” Magnus’s mother retorted impatiently. “We…”

  This time her husband cleared his throat loudly. She glared at him, but then fell silent.

  Long uncomfortable minutes dragged by before she spoke again. Judith had the impression she was struggling to hide her emotions as she said, “You must realize that my son has only recently lost his wife.”

  She opened her mouth to reply but Cathryn held up a restraining hand. “His daughters still grieve their mother.”

  Judith trembled inside.

  She knows I love him.

  “In time, Magnus will marry again. He is the heir to his father’s title and must sire sons. But God’s laws will be obeyed in my home.”

  Bryk Kriger put his arm around his wife. “Perhaps we are jumping to conclusions, Cathryn. No need to be harsh on our guest when she’s just arrived. She’s a descendant of Charlemagne. She knows what constitutes proper behavior.”

  Judith wanted to weep. How was she to survive living in the fortress with Magnus if they had to follow the dictates of proper behavior?

  Her heart plummeted when the comte chuckled as he declared, “Besides, Vikings don’t wed their captives.”

  Cathryn gasped.

  Judith came close to falling off the chair when he winked at his wife. “Like our illustrious duke, they take them as concubines.”

  Daughters

  Magnus was glad of the clink of his chain mail as he walked towards his daughters’ chamber. They would be aware he was coming. He feared they might also hear the loud beating of his anxious heart.

  The door stood open. He entered without knocking. Both girls were seated, embroidery in hand. Brynhild’s bright face was turned to the door. She beamed, glanced briefly at her sister then flung down the sewing and ran into his arms.

  “Papa,” she exclaimed.

  He bent the knee to scoop her up and hugged tightly, twirling her around when she giggled. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of innocence. “I have missed my girls.”

  “I missed you, Papa,” she replied, clinging to his neck. “You smell sweaty.”

  He laughed. “I’ve had a long journey.”

  Aleksandra looked up from the sampler into which she still poked her needle, grunted, then went back to her task.

  He hoisted Brynhild over one shoulder like a sack of grain. “Aha! You’re the Viking’s captive now,” he declared. She squirmed and objected as though offended, but her near-hysterical laughter was music to his ears. The knot in his belly eased.

  Aleksandra’s back stiffened. “It’s difficult to concentrate with the noise you are making,” she said, seemingly engrossed in her needlework.

  Magnus put Brynhild back on her feet, puffing his cheeks out as if remorseful. His youngest did the same. Both held their breath until her face reddened alarmingly and she burst out laughing.

  Aleksandra looked up, her face a mask of annoyance, but Magnus took the opportunity to dive for her. “I believe your sister is jealous, Brynhild,” he teased. “She too wants to be carried like a sack of grain.”

  “No,” his eldest screamed, trying to escape as her sampler fell to the floor, but he captured her arms and hoisted her over his shoulder. She thumped his back with fisted hands, legs flaying in the air. “Put me down. Put me down. I hate you. Put me down.”

  Her words were hurtful, but Magnus recognized in his heart she didn’t mean them. She was a little girl who missed her mother. He loped around the chamber, bucking and neighing like a horse, until she stopped hitting and took a deep breath.

  Her shuddering sob took him by surprise. He slid her down from his shoulder and cradled her in his arms, cooing what he hoped were soothing words. “Aleksandra, my treasure. I missed you. I didn’t want to go, but I had to obey the duke. I’m here now.”

  He sat on the bed and beckoned Brynhild. She climbed up on the mattress and leaned into him. The three rocked together until Aleksandra’s tears subsided. He hoped it was a new beginning, but there was still the matter of Judith.

  His parents had sensed his attraction. It explained his mother’s icy demeanor. His father was likely to suggest he take Ju
dith as his concubine. If he lied to his children and told them their guest was nothing more than a hostage, he would still know in his heart she was more than that.

  The issue of her marriage remained, and he resolved to do everything in his power to overcome the obstacle. It was a farce, and he suspected the marriage had never been consummated. Aleksandra and Brynhild would some day have to accept a stepmother. There was no better person than Judith. Being back home seemed to have made things clearer. She would make a good mother, and he burned for her as he’d never burned for any woman.

  He pondered how to broach the subject in this fragile moment.

  “Grandmother says you have brought a foreign woman,” Brynhild said.

  Aleksandra stiffened.

  “I did. Her name is Judith of Valognes.”

  Aleksandra sniffled and slid from his lap. “It’s a silly name,” she said to her sister. “Grandfather says she’s a prisoner.”

  Magnus shook his head. “She is a hostage, not a prisoner, a member of an old and respected Flemish family.” He was about to add that she was a descendant of Charlemagne, but she was after all only six. “You will treat her with politeness.”

  Aleksandra rolled her eyes. “Why would I meet a prisoner?”

  He bent the knee before his daughter and took hold of her shoulders. She averted her eyes. “Judith is our guest and you will behave in a manner suitable for the granddaughter of a Norman comte. Understood?”

  She pouted mightily, swiping a sleeve across her eyes. “I’ll be polite, but I won’t like her.”

  He was tempted to remark that Ida would be mortified at her daughter’s rudeness, but he didn’t want to lose the ground he’d gained. “Wash your face, and I’ll take you both to meet her.”

  Aleksandra sulked but did as he bade.

  Magnus entered the hall, leading his daughters by the hand, one on each side. Judith wished she’d had a chance to bathe before meeting them, but it was too late now. She wanted these children to like her, not only because she was in love with their father, but because she too had grown up without a mother. They were lucky they had each other.

  Their dissimilarity struck her immediately. Dark-haired Brynhild smiled broadly as they approached; the fair Aleksandra pouted, studying her feet.

  Magnus inhaled deeply. “Lady Judith, I present my eldest daughter, Aleksandra. She is six years old.”

  “I’m seven now,” the child hissed. “You weren’t here for the anniversary of my birth.”

  Magnus opened his mouth, probably intending to scold her, but Judith recognized this behavior from Adela’s daughters. “I hate it when people forget my birthday,” she declared. “I am happy to meet you, Aleksandra.”

  She wanted to say more, but resisted the temptation to share too much of her feelings. There would be time later, God willing.

  Magnus nudged his daughter.

  She bobbed a curtsey. “Likewise,” she murmured, her eyes still on her boots.

  “And this is Brynhild.”

  “I’m still four, Papa,” she reassured her father before turning to Judith and asking, “Are you a Christian?”

  The question took Judith by surprise until she realized the child had noticed her crucifix. “Yes. I am.”

  “Me too,” Brynhild said. “Good. We are Christians in this family, except Grandfather still has his Norse gods.”

  Bryk Kriger burst out laughing. “You are a minx, young lady.”

  She beamed a grin at him, and ran into his outstretched arms, leaving Judith with an inkling as to who might turn out to be her strongest ally.

  “You are lucky to have a sister, Aleksandra,” she said softly. “I grew up with brothers who were older than I was.”

  The girl wrinkled her nose as if she’d detected an obnoxious odor. “Brynhild talks too much, and she’s not as wise as I am.”

  The smile that had brightened Magnus’s face fled. He smoothed a hand over Aleksandra’s hair. “Take your sister and prepare for the evening meal. Your maidservant is likely wondering where you’ve got to.”

  When his daughters had left the hall, he turned to Judith, his hazel eyes full of uncertainty. “Come, I’ll show you to your chamber.”

  She hazarded a quick glance at his mother, then accepted his arm, troubled by the sadness on Cathryn Kriger’s face.

  The Moon And The Tides

  They walked to her chamber in silence. Beatrice greeted her mistress with open arms. “My lady, this is a fine chamber. I’ve laid out the one gown for—”

  Magnus interrupted, anxious to get what he had to say off his chest. “Beatrice, leave us. Wait outside.”

  The maid’s eyes darted from him to Judith. She frowned but obeyed. The thud of the door as it closed strengthened his resolve. He took Judith’s hands. “You have no doubt guessed I am in love with you,” he said, his heart filled with the joyful knowledge it was true.

  She looked him in the eye. “And I with you,” she murmured. “But I am wed to another.”

  She loves me.

  He looked up into the rafters, inhaling deeply to calm his racing heart. “It’s the only thing keeping me from pressing your body to mine and kissing your perfect mouth.”

  She tightened her grip on his hands and swayed, but said nothing. He looked back at her face, surprised to see a glint of lust in her eye.

  “Surely one kiss can’t hurt?” she whispered.

  He chuckled. “If only that were true, Judith. I cannot promise to stop at a kiss.”

  She frowned. “A kiss is the only thing I can offer, Magnus.”

  His brain reasoned it was a mistake, but his body overruled his reasoning. A kiss was better than nothing. He took hold of her shoulders. “Just a kiss then,” he rasped.

  Her lips parted slightly. He bent his head to brush his mouth over hers.

  It was as if Thor had struck him with a thunderbolt. Her sweet taste, her female scent, the little whimper that rose from her throat: all combined to send his senses reeling. His shaft hardened pleasurably, forcing a growl from deep within his chest.

  He nibbled her bottom lip, then coaxed with his tongue, venturing into her mouth when she opened for him. Tongues mated, warm saliva mingled. He tightened his grip on her shoulders like a man clinging to the edge of a precipice, his life dependent on keeping her body away from his.

  It was for naught when she whispered his name and melted into him. He moved his hands to her bottom and cupped her to his arousal. “I want you,” he breathed into her mouth as her breasts molded to his chest and desire spiraled up his spine.

  She pressed her lips to his and delved her tongue into his mouth, tangling her fingers in his hair. Lightning struck when her fingertips touched his scalp.

  It was an experience like none he’d had before. He’d liked Ida and enjoyed making love to her, but his body and his heart were ablaze with need of Judith. She drew him like the moon draws the tides.

  She pulled back a little and rubbed her nose along his, moving her hips against him.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I swear to you, Judith, I will do everything in my power to seek an end to your marriage. How can it be valid? Did you utter the vows?”

  She frowned. “It was confusing. The mud seemed to be sucking me down. My brother arrived in the middle of the ceremony.”

  He swore if he ever had the chance, he would ensure his fist made contact with Arnulf’s arrogant nose. “Making his escape from Montreuil.”

  She averted her gaze. “I was distraught, and I thought he had come to rescue me. I believed he wasn’t aware of the kind of man he’d betrothed me to.”

  His heart bled for the pain she had suffered because of her brother’s callous disregard. “But he left you there.”

  The heat emanating from her body moments ago fled. She turned to ice in his arms. “He said I’d have to remain behind because I had no horse.”

  By Odin this man will pay.

  “As I watched him ride away I realized the priest had carried on w
ith the rite. I babbled something, then Theodoric and I were suddenly pronounced man and wife.”

  “Did he say any vows? Were there witnesses?”

  She lay her head against his chest. “Only Beatrice. I don’t recall if he said anything,” she said, her voice full of despair.

  He stroked her back, his heart filled with a desire to soothe and comfort her. He still longed to join their bodies, but other matters had to be settled first. “Judith, you must tell me one more thing, and I regret asking this, but—”

  She pecked a sweet kiss on his lips. “No. The marriage was never consummated.”

  Freyr had provided a weapon. Like a warrior with a newly forged sword he knew in his gut the battle could be won. His heart hoped it was true. The only thing his needy shaft heard was that she was still a virgin.

  It was incomprehensible to Judith she was discussing matters pertaining to the bedchamber with a man she barely knew. Yet she did know him. He was in her blood, and incredibly she trusted Magnus more than she’d ever trusted anyone.

  The brush of his lips, the intimacy of tasting his tongue, the scent of his healthy male sweat, the press of his manhood against her mons: all had turned her into a lustful wanton—she who had never known the slightest tingle of interest in a man.

  Was this God’s plan? Or was she spitting in God’s face?

  Feeling a sudden chill, she nestled into him. “I don’t understand what can be done with regard to my marriage.”

  “I have a feeling my mother is ahead of us in this,” he said. “It’s the reason Theodoric and his friend were summoned to Rouen. The previous archbishop was my mother’s uncle.”

  “There’s a lot to learn about you,” she admitted with a gasp. “I thought Normans were barbarians.”

  He laughed. “That’s what went through your mind when we met. Truth is, it’s what my mother feared when she first set eyes on my father. She is devout, and much as I would enjoy taking you as my concubine and making love to you every chance I get, she will never permit it.”