The Viking's Captive

by Ingrid Hahn

  Thorvald…Thorvald could only think of her. He hadn’t slept that many nights with her by his side. Yet her absence made him ache.

  He put his head down and continued, one foot before the other, trudging along. It would not be far now. His feet were heavy. It felt as if he’d face execution with more grace than he’d face what he was traveling toward.

  Home. His true home. Or what ought to have been. The last place he’d felt true joy. Before the battle when his father had turned coward and the jarl, in the guise of stepping in to fill the role, had extracted that promise.

  Thorvald trudged up the hill through the dense wood. The trees were tall, like giant’s fingers reaching up from the earth to claw the sky. Because of their towering stature, not much light made it down to the forest floor, even on the brightest days. Ozrik walked beside him, and Hrolf was not far behind, the young one having paused at the bottom to relieve himself. Sigurd should have been with him. His cousin’s absence resonated with every step Thorvald took.

  He came over the crest and the farm spread out in the valley before them. The air, cooler up here than it had been in the village by the sea, smelled of pines and damp earth. It sent him straight back to the happiest summer days of his childhood. When, with a belly full of warm goat’s milk, he and Sigurd had run barefoot through the trees, bashing wooden swords together while the small shields they’d carried made their young arms ache.

  Below Thorvald was everything he’d fought for. Years training to be the best. The raids. The treasure. The fighting.

  The princess.

  The jarl had men working up here. Land was too precious to lie fallow. Now they’d work for Thorvald.

  Ozrik drew in a surprised breath. “All this is yours. I had no idea it was so much. The gods favor you.”

  That was exactly how Thorvald had expected to feel. Favored. It was all supposed to be better. He’d captured the daughter of the jarl’s enemy and handed her over. Done what he needed to do. Gotten what he wanted.

  He’d dreamed of his day. This moment. Of the life he’d lead when he returned.

  The problem was, he wasn’t stepping back into his childhood. He was going to work the land and—hopefully—step forward into being a husband and father.

  There was another dream: the woman he’d make his wife. Before setting sail on that miserable task of the jarl’s, Thorvald hadn’t had anyone in mind. Just knew that he wanted to like his wife’s smile. The sort of woman who lifted his spirits when he saw her, the way he hoped to lift hers in turn.

  In the last few days, the woman he pictured had morphed from assuming a vague form to being one whose features he’d studied very carefully. A specific woman whom, because of their circumstances, he’d never seen smile.

  She’d said she had no use for a man like him. After what he’d done, he’d more likely raise her bile than her spirits… He’d be lucky if she didn’t raise a knife at him. He’d deserve it, too, dog that he was.

  Reclaiming his land…laying claim to his freedom. That was all he thought he’d wanted. Then he’d met her. And he’d lost her.

  The truth clubbed him over the head in a great wallop. It was his fault. His vow…never mind his vow.

  Thorvald couldn’t take another step. He had to…what? It didn’t matter. He’d left. The price of leaving was to be without her. Come what might, it was too much. “We’re going back.”

  Above them, the clouds rumbled. There would be rain soon.

  “Now?” Hrolf, having caught up, squinted and looked to the gray sky.

  Ozrik sent the overgrown youth a significant look. Thorvald tried not to wince. If only he hadn’t seen it. Evidently, he’d given enough away to give his friends a hint of what he might be going through.

  So be it.

  …

  Alodie stood on the shoreline beside the jarl in the fading evening light. She’d been groomed, dressed, and adorned, then dragged down and forcefully positioned beside him. Struggling and resisting had won her nothing. His guards were too big. They stood nearby, holding spears, their eyes on her every move.

  The jarl spoke at length to invoke their gods. The upper teeth on one side of his jaw were all absent. Trying not to stare at the gap, she narrowed her eyes and listened carefully. When he came to speaking of fertility, her stomach dropped.

  He motioned for one of his men and was brought a golden urn. The jarl raised the vessel and poured the contents over the stones and sand. Blood. Blood of a goat for Thor. Blood of a sow for Freya. Blood of a boar for Freyr. The bright red sacrifice splashed and spattered. The animals they would eat tonight.

  He handed her a bronze brooch. “A token from my ancestral—”

  Not letting him finish, she hurled it into the water. “I do not recognize this union.”

  In the stunned silence, the villagers eyed one another uncomfortably.

  The jarl remained impassive. “What you want is of no consequence.”

  The sharp end of one of the guard’s spears nudged her in the back. They processed to the great hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Thorvald’s Shock

  The whole village was buzzing with activity when Thorvald, Ozrik, and Hrolf roamed back through. It was early evening. The night birds were beginning to sing their goodbyes to the day.

  Thorvald turned to Ozrik. “What’s going on?”

  A light breeze tousled Ozrik’s hair. He shrugged. “Seems they’re preparing for a feast.”

  Thorvald’s brows sank. That was exactly his suspicion. “What would they be feasting for?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  At the back of the great hall, Thorvald pushed open the door and let himself into the dim space. He moved more silently than he’d intended, for none of the women turned at his entrance.

  He came up behind the princess. Her dark brown hair, cleaned, combed, and plaited elaborately, gleamed in a way it hadn’t during the sea voyage.

  “You understand why I had to do it, right?”

  The princess turned in a whirl, the plate of food she’d been preparing forgotten among the steaming dishes. When she saw it was him, her eyes flashed like the dark center of a vengeful storm. “To which of your many noble doings do you refer?”

  His mouth turned dry. He deserved no less. “Why I left.”

  His throat felt like he’d swallowed sand.

  “If you do not want to make an apology, you have no business here.” She jerked her chin, indicating he could leave the way he came. “Be off with you.”

  Thorvald wanted to reach for her. This longing was a portion of himself he never knew existed. Not until he’d met her. Now he realized it, it seemed as much a part of him as needing air.

  “I want to tell you—”

  “You left. When I recovered from my shock, I said good riddance. Nobody wants you back here. Go back to wherever it was you vanished to.”

  A jolt went through him. Part of him had been hoping she’d see him and be grateful for his return. But no. Odin’s eye, it was as bad as it could be. She’d expected him to stay. To fight for her. And he’d done worse than simply let her down. Far worse.

  He’d failed her. Because she was right. He never should have left. It had taken him a shamefully long time to realize it.

  Once again, he was the witless one. If skalds were going to remember him to future generations, he was going to have to start acting like a man and warrior worth singing about.

  More than that—he was going to have to start acting like a man and warrior worthy of her.

  He took a step closer, dropping his voice to a whisper so the nearby women wouldn’t overhear. “I’m not sorry I kissed you while I had the chance.”

  If only he’d seized the opportunity to do more. His body ached for hers. But he was doomed never to taste her skin. Never to explore the swells and hollows of he
r womanly form. Never to watch her expression change the moment his body breached hers.

  Her color went high. “I hate you more because you did.”

  “Do you?”

  She made a sound of disgusted exasperation. “You handed me over to him.”

  “I had to.”

  “You wanted to.”

  “I never break the promises I make. And I need my land back. If I didn’t come here and deliver you as he’d asked, I’d have been left with nothing. No kind of life. Nothing to give—”

  “You and your ilk are very good at taking what you please. That I’m here is proof enough of that.”

  “You like to hurl that at me as if you mean to insult me. But I don’t deny it. I know what we are and I know what we do. I’ve done it myself.” A fact about his past that troubled him more and more.

  “Taking what belongs to others is wrong.”

  “By what measure?”

  He’d expected her to begin speaking of her lone god. It wouldn’t have had the same effect as the single word she spat out from between her teeth. “Mine.”

  He looked briefly into the distance. The way she looked at him could burn him to cinders. “I love the sea, but I was born for land.”

  “I hope you die alone. Cowards like you deserve no better.”

  Hearing “coward” applied to him was like the red-hot blade of an axe struck against a vault of ice. Thorvald slammed his fist onto a table. The surrounding women emitted a collective shriek and grabbed at each other.

  He could barely breathe. That this woman—this woman who he could so easily have loved—that she could call him such a thing…he shouldn’t care. His father had torn his life apart. Thorvald had lived in anguish for the entire following winter.

  This felt worse. “That’s the last thing I am or will ever be.”

  The princess remained undaunted. Her eyes were narrow, her spine straight, her shoulders down. Her arms were long and rigid by her sides, ending in tightly balled fists. “Not the way I see it.”

  “Then you must have been glad to be rid of me.”

  “I was. Now leave and make me glad again. Gift us all with the grace of your absence.”

  He let out a growl of frustration. It was difficult to see past the overwhelming onslaught of burning rage. He wanted to rip everything they’d said right from the air and set it on fire.

  A voice from behind broke in. “My greatest warrior and my bride together again so soon?”

  His what? Mute, all senses vibrating with shock, Thorvald turned. The jarl stepped toward them, his face unsmiling. Two of his guardsmen hung back, watching and waiting.

  Everyone went silent as Jarl Erlendr stood before them. He’d come in through the other door and now he stared hard at Thorvald. “I thought you wouldn’t leave your land again for anything.”

  His land seemed a distant and useless thing. A pile of worthless dirt. All Thorvald could hear in his head was the jarl saying “my bride.” Thank the gods he had returned. His heart thudding, he kept his features carefully impassive and spoke with a detached air. “I came to join the wedding feast.”

  “Yes. So I assumed.” The jarl’s flat expression didn’t change. If he’d caught Thorvald’s lie, he gave no indication.

  “You were hoping I’d never return, weren’t you?”

  The room was deathly quiet. The jarl’s face gave no indication of what he might have been thinking. “Have you ever thought about that day?”

  That day. Thorvald could have drowned in the ensuing flood of panic. They’d never talked about it. Never. His throat tightened. The jarl was making it abundantly clear what he was capable of doing if Thorvald didn’t obey him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” The question simmered with an underlying threat.

  Forcing himself to ignore the jarl before the spectators could begin to guess what they might be discussing, Thorvald took a step closer to the princess. “No woman can be married against her will. Unless…” An unwelcome thought lodged itself like a splinter into his mind. “Is this…is this what you want?”

  When she looked at the jarl, it was with sheer rancor. “I’ll never accept being his wife.”

  Relief as sweet as amber honey poured through Thorvald’s knotted muscles.

  The jarl raised his head. “I don’t need her consent. I do her an honor. I don’t have to marry her. She will learn gratitude toward me for my benevolence.”

  With that, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the door. He paused at the passageway to yell to one of the other women. “Bring the food.” Then his attention flitted back to Thorvald, malicious cunning in his eyes. “Join us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alodie Spits Wine

  The jarl dragged Alodie to the front of the great hall and stood her beside him. They were upon a wooden dais covered in thick hides. Behind them were two ornately carved chairs, decoration partially obscured by heavy pelts of fur.

  The hall was crowded. Everyone watched. Those who didn’t stand upon the ground stood upon stools and benches to see the spectacle.

  Jarl Erlendr offered her a gold cup filled with wine. The heady fragrance was not enough to cover the stink of animal grease. It smelled as if the heat of his skin had turned it rancid. She would throw up twice if he tried to force himself on her. Once for the violation and another time for the foul odor.

  Thorvald had trailed after them. Each step he took appeared labored. As if he were attempting to move his legs with lead boots upon his feet.

  Good. Let the vile demon suffer. The more anguish twisting in the sludge of his sorry excuse for a soul, the better. She forced herself to stare straight ahead at nothing in particular.

  The jarl raised his cup. “To my wife.”

  The crowded longhouse erupted in a cheer. Was it her imagination or had he laid extra emphasis upon “wife” to goad her?

  Alodie scanned the room, eyes narrowed. The women had finished serving their men and had taken their own places. Servants stood at the ready, no doubt for the quantity of ale and mead soon to be had. Likely, these men were happier about the ale to come than for their jarl.

  The jarl took a sip, keeping his eyes on her as he tipped his head back. “Are you not to drink, wife?”

  Against her will, her gaze found Thorvald. He looked as if he were burning inside. Like he could walk through fire and emerge unharmed, becoming one with the flames.

  But he remained silent.

  Glaring, she returned her attention to the jarl. This man’s wife? Never. Not even for one night with the promise he’d return her home tomorrow.

  Keeping hold of all the vile things ready to fly from her tongue, she smiled sweetly. “Of course, my lord.”

  She took a generous sip.

  No sooner had his gaze wandered away from her than she spit the wine right in his face.

  An eerie hush fell over the room, as if nobody dared breathe. Wine dripped over the jarl’s features. He made no move to wipe it away.

  Alodie stood her ground. “I do not agree to be your wife—now or ever.”

  All eyes remained on them both.

  Finally, the jarl extended a hand. A servant tripped over his feet, rushing forward with an old rag. The jarl dabbed away the moisture. “Thorvald Longsword.”

  Erlendr turned, his bearskin flapping once against his calves, and returned to his seat on the dais above the general mass of bodies. “Punish her.”

  Alodie’s heart began to bash in the center of her chest. She looked to the demon she’d almost come to…well, trust during their sea voyage. If she’d sufficiently angered him in their last interaction, what would he be capable of doing to her? The night on the beach when she’d tried to escape, he’d made it clear he’d have no compunction against punishing her.

  Thorvald’s face remained
stony, his expression betraying nothing.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alodie’s Punishment

  Thorvald’s ears couldn’t have been functioning. The jarl had just commanded him to… “What?”

  The jarl fixed his full attention on Thorvald, repeating himself, putting heavy emphasis on each word. “Punish her.”

  Thorvald growled. “I—”

  “You’ll do as I say. I don’t care how. Cut out her tongue, for all I care.”

  Thorvald cast a glance to the princess. She stood fuming, her color high. “I’m not doing it here for all to see.”

  “Very well.” The jarl gestured lazily behind him. “Take her to the other room and do it there. So long as I hear her scream.”

  Thorvald turned back to her. The torchlight made her skin glow. “Come.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She glared at him, fingers going white as her hands clung to the arms of her finely carved chair.

  The way she said “you,” like she loathed him most in the world, even more than she hated the jarl, cut like a sharp blade handled carelessly.

  Except her words were not carelessly handled. She loathed him, and would until her final breath.

  He could not fault her for that.

  It didn’t excuse him now. Better to get her away from the jarl before she did something to incur real wrath. He stepped forward and grasped her by the arm. Not hard. Just firm enough to make a point.

  “How dare you?” She tried to wrench away.

  “It’ll be better for you if you come with me without a fight.” He spoke low, teeth clenched.

  She tore herself out of his grasp. “Go to hell.”

  With no other choice, he swept her up and heaved her over his shoulder as he had the night he’d stolen her.

  He made for the little room the jarl had indicated. He was behind the jarl and almost to the door when Ozrik stepped from the shadows in front of him, face red with anger. “You’re going to do this?”