The Viking's Captive

by Ingrid Hahn

  “You’re not as close as you think, you and he.”

  “Close?” Heat assaulted her cheeks. “We’re not…” The denial died almost as quickly as it appeared on her tongue. It was no use.

  “I thought sending him to punish you might break the bond, but that was not the case. He hurt you and you still think you mean something to him, stupid woman.” He waved. “It matters not. Come here and we’ll do what needs to be done.”

  “If you think you can get at him by using me…”

  “You think you play any part in the consequences of which I spoke…you do not.”

  There was something she didn’t know. Something Thorvald had kept well hidden. But the jarl knew it—both whatever it was Thorvald concealed and that he’d not confided in her.

  Alodie’s insides wavered like a bowl of offal freshly sliced from the stomach of a sheep. If she wasn’t part of the jarl’s plan to keep Thorvald under his control, what was? “I have no intention of being your wife, Thorvald or no Thorvald.”

  “You can come as I bid, rest here with your legs open for me, or I can bring in men to hold you down.” He drew in a long breath, nostrils going wide. “Either way, the begetting of my sons begins tonight.”

  Alodie pretended to deliberate. The matter was already decided—what would happen between them, tonight or any night, would bear no resemblance whatsoever to the jarl’s vision.

  Feigning obedience, she came around the end of the bed. The jarl began to undo the ties holding his trousers.

  Her chance.

  Alodie’s grip on the handle of her blade tightened. Her heart beat heat and drunken daring through her veins. Here at last was the part of her she’d spent her whole life trying to deny. The part that compelled her to lash out, to question, and to disobey. If it hadn’t been for the real princess to emulate and honor, she might have found herself in a great deal of trouble.

  She’d always blamed her father for this part of her—wanted to peel it away from her soul the way a knife peels the skin of an apple.

  Now it was hers to use, wield, and above all, control.

  With a quick slash, she arced her arm through the air.

  A bright streak welled across the jarl’s chest. He looked down, his face pale with shock. The blood began to streak down in heavy drops at the same moment rain began to pelt against the roof.

  It wasn’t enough. All she’d succeeded in doing was cut the skin. Stupid. Jabbing it between his ribs and twisting—too gruesome. And invariably fatal.

  The nose, though…

  Breathing heavily, she moved to strike a second time. He caught her wrists and squeezed, baring his yellow teeth. His breath was like an old cat after it’d been sick on rotten fish.

  “If you think this will stop me, princess…” A fraction more pressure and he’d have shattered bone. With a cry, she released the knife. It fell to the floor.

  He leaped upon her and pinned her to the bed.

  Alodie kicked his legs from hers so he couldn’t force her knees apart. “You have…” She struggled. He was crushing her. The onslaught of his stench…she fought against gagging. The shallow grave of a cow seven days gone was more appealing. “The wrong…woman. I am not the princess.”

  He stilled. The only sound came from the rain. “What do you mean?”

  “I only pretended…” Her breath was coming in great heaves. “I only pretended to be the princess so in case we lost, and your demons took her, they would have taken the wrong person. The real princess remains safe.”

  The jarl pulled away, sliding off the bed to stand over her.

  Alodie pushed up on her elbows, brushed the hair from her face, and let her face open into a smile. She all but glittered with triumph. “The princess never left home. You have me and I’m nothing more than a servant. Whatever revenge you thought you might be taking on that weak and pathetic king you call your greatest enemy, you have failed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Thorvald’s Anger

  Outside, Ozrik and Hrolf dumped Thorvald on the ground. The hard-packed dirt jolted his body, but in the torment of his crazed state, Thorvald was numb to bodily sensation.

  “Sit on him.” Ozrik pointed down. He pinned Thorvald’s chest and arms, while Hrolf took the legs.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Isn’t this what everyone wants from me?” Thorvald drew huge breaths of the cool air as if he’d been suffocating. The night was clear and the outside was a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness and smoke inside. But not at the cost of leaving Alodie with the jarl.

  “This is no way to get what you want.”

  “He silenced the law giver by slicing his throat, and he has her.” A downdraft made the needles in the trees whisper and it whirled loose strands of hair around Thorvald’s face. “He doesn’t think he has to live or abide by our customs. He’s no better than putrefied snake guts.”

  “I will not argue against that.”

  “I’m going to fight him.”

  “Alone? He has eleven well-paid men by his side who won’t stand for that. You’ll be dead before you’re close enough to nick his chin with your sword.”

  Thorvald finally kicked Hrolf off, then twisted out of Ozrik’s grip. He rose to standing, brushing himself free of dirt and debris. “Either you’re with me or against me.”

  “There’s far more to it than that, and you know it, you stupid swine.”

  “Go back inside and enjoy the feast with the rest of them.” The sky began to hurl fat raindrops upon the earth. Thorvald brushed the wetness from his brow.

  “And leave you alone to foul things up more? Not a chance.”

  “Good.” Thorvald drew his sword. What was wrong with him was he’d done something from which he could never recover. And now the jarl expected him to walk away and pretend his land still mattered?

  He wanted to fight. He wanted blood. Years and years he’d trained for nothing else, all to regain what had been stolen. “Part of me was hoping you’d say that.”

  Ozrik pushed to standing. He neither glanced at the weapon nor pulled his own.

  “But you’re lucky today, old friend.” Thorvald swung the blade through the air for emphasis. “I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to dispatch you. The longer she’s alone in there with him, the more dangerous it becomes for her. And if he dares to touch her…” He raised his sword and, for the second time that night, thrust the tip against Ozrik’s neck. Hrolf audibly gasped. Thorvald hadn’t pushed hard enough to draw blood. But the point was made. “I’m holding you accountable.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Alodie’s True Father

  The jarl stared at Alodie.

  The world stood still. She was still caged in the little room, alone with this demon, and days travel by sea from home on a voyage she could never undertake alone.

  She’d flung the most important thing about her—the fact that she was not the princess—directly into the gaunt face of the demon who, with his precarious hold on power slipping, had begun taking ruthless measures.

  “You’re not the king’s daughter.” He spoke as if more ghost than flesh and blood.

  “And I don’t believe that matters to you. If you were sending Thorvald away when you commanded him to fetch me, you’d have been far better off killing him yourself. Why didn’t you come to him one night and just slit his throat?”

  “Did you and he plan this together?”

  Alodie snorted. “Whatever hold you have on him is strong enough to shield you from duplicity.”

  Whatever the jarl held over Thorvald was powerful, indeed. She hadn’t realized it until she spoke, but that was the truth, wasn’t it?

  Slowly, the jarl nodded. “That sounds more like the warrior I know.”

  “The man you know is dealing fairly and honorably with you while you do exactly as you pleas
e, even if it means acting without honor.”

  Because that’s where the jarl had the upper hand, wasn’t it? Thorvald strove to act according to the principles of honor. The rules so far as he understood them, that was.

  “You know nothing of our people or our ways.”

  “I know about your people and your ways—far more than I ever cared to know.” She pushed herself off the bed. “My father was one of you. He came perhaps with the same ships on which you yourself sailed. He married my mother, loved her, and deserted her. He shattered her heart and her life. She never recovered. I’ve been thinking about your demon kind and their ways since I was old enough to understand, listening carefully to every story I overheard, memorizing every detail.”

  He went eerily quiet, studying her the same way he had when she’d first arrived upon the docks. Like he was searching for something—not merely in her face, but also in parts of memory long disused.

  The jarl began walking around her in a slow circle, gaze all but gouging into her. She remained still, shrinking deeper and deeper inside of herself with each step he took.

  “I know why I know you.”

  “What? Know me?” Alodie shook her head. “You don’t know me. How could you know me?”

  “It’s been pestering me in the back of my thoughts since I first saw you. It’s because of your mother. She was comelier, but you look like her, don’t you?”

  “I…” Alodie could no longer speak. It was true. The resemblance between them had been strong, even when Alodie was small. Though their hair was markedly different, Alodie’s dark and her mother’s a silvery white, their features were strikingly similar.

  “Did your mother…did she by any chance have hair of an uncommon color? Very pale. Like…moonlight.”

  A wall went up inside of Alodie. He had no right to know anything about her. No right at all. She wrapped her arms around herself and clung. Hearing him mention that detail about her mother’s hair made her want to fly back home on the wind and hide her mother away.

  Even though her mother had long passed.

  That he remembered her all these years later…

  A thousand spiders spilling out of the mouth of a dead world could not have been as revolting as this.

  The sides of the jarl’s mouth flicked upward. “You’ve gone pale, serving woman.”

  A sinister chill of foreboding crawled over her skin. “It doesn’t matter to you who my mother might or might not have been.”

  “But it matters to you.”

  Alodie almost snapped at him to say no more. But she’d already given him too much leverage. While her head spun with the thrill of having triumphed over him, he’d wasted no time in sussing out a weak point.

  How quickly the course of battle had shifted.

  The real princess would never have lost so much so fast. There was something to be said for holding one’s tongue.

  “Your mother lied.” The tenor of his voice had changed…gone were the flat tones of normal parlance. He sounded like his mood was more buoyant. The demon was enjoying this. “Your father never married her. Never even loved her. She lived with those other women, the ones who lived entirely separate from men and served that strange god of yours who inexplicably demanded they never marry.”

  At the abbey, he meant. The brides of Christ. Yes, her mother had been a servant there before her father had caught her eye and captured her heart.

  “She was one of them.”

  Alodie’s brows flicked together. That he was wrong about. Her mother had never been a nun.

  “Your father ripped off her head covering, threw her down in the dirt, and took her…” The jarl, behind her, leaned close to pour his poisoned words directly into her ear. The stink of him came straight from hell. “…while she screamed and begged for mercy.”

  He pulled back, laughing. “It meant nothing—it was just something I needed to do after battle.”

  The significance of his story fell together in a rush. It was like Alodie had been pummeled under a rain of stones. She shook her head. His daughter. Her? A child of rape? It was impossible. “No. You’re trying to manipulate me. It’s not going to work.”

  He waved a hand. “Deny it all you please. You weren’t there. I was. And I remember.” His lips curled in distaste. “It’s a pity you didn’t inherit the color of her hair.”

  Alodie covered her mouth with her hand, ignoring the last insult because following that line of thought would lead her to consider whose hair color she had gotten. Panic swallowed her whole. She fought to breathe.

  Raped. Her mother had been raped by this…this… There was no word stronger than demon. But he was worse than all of them. The term was nowhere near strong enough. He was vile. Hateful. Evil. She, Alodie, was the result. Her sweet, peace-loving mother had endured the most heinous violence…and had lived in sorrow every day thereafter until her death.

  Her father did live on these shores. He stood before her, blood so dark it was almost black where it had crusted upon the white of his skin.

  Her father…

  And he’d married her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Why Couldn’t Thorvald Die?

  There was an entrance to the jarl’s sleeping quarters at the far end that didn’t require going through the hall where many people slept. The same place where Thorvald and Sigurd had once made their beds not far from Ozrik. The jarl kept the door guarded.

  It was guarded no longer.

  Rain falling heavily, Thorvald began bashing the door. He gripped the rock in his hands hard, harder than was necessary, as if he wanted to make himself bleed. Anything to block out the roiling tumble inside of him he couldn’t contain.

  Ozrik and Hrolf waited behind him, one with his own sword, the other with one he’d borrowed.

  The wood split. He hit harder. Until he placed his hands on Alodie once again, there was no gentleness in him. No force in this realm or any other that could stop him. He’d tear down the village, plank by plank, pillar by pillar, mud wall by mud wall. And if she were hurt…

  He smashed a hole big enough to see inside the room. The jarl appeared on the other side. Thorvald stumbled backward, chest heaving. The door swung open.

  Jarl Erlendr had Alodie by the arm, twisted behind her back. Her clothing was intact, but the flaxen fabric was stained brown in the front with huge splotches of blood. The jarl wore nothing but a gash from the waist up.

  Good. Thorvald had been right to give her the knife.

  “I’m glad you’ve come. Saves me the trouble of having to find you.” His gaze fell on the bodies of his former guards that rested behind the three men, then he returned it to Thorvald, boring into him.

  Ozrik and Hrolf came up to flank Thorvald. They too must have sensed something was very, very wrong.

  The jarl twisted Alodie’s arm and she buckled, throwing her head back as she let out a cry. The sound pierced Thorvald’s heart, flooding him with agony.

  “Why couldn’t you die, Thorvald Longsword? That’s what I expected you to do.”

  “I did not fail you.”

  “On the contrary. You did. And in the most spectacular way possible.”

  Thorvald clasped the hilt of his sword harder. He was too late. First he’d kill the jarl. Then he’d burn everything in sight.

  “This woman here is no princess.”

  “No…what?” Thorvald brushed the rain from his face. “What are you talking about? You weren’t there. Of course she’s—”

  “She tricked you. They hid the real princess.” The jarl flung Alodie forward. She fell in the mud at Thorvald’s feet, splashing his legs with wet black earth.

  Thorvald looked down to the dark hair. She clutched her arm, face bent toward the ground.

  “He’s wrong.” Thorvald’s voice came out scratchy.

  Without looking up, sh
e gave her head the slightest shake.

  Thorvald stood mute. Not the princess? She’d…she’d lied?

  Ozrik went to her side, unclasped the pin of his cloak to throw the wool around her shoulders, and helped her stand.

  “You betrayed us.” Thorvald could barely speak as he stared at her, the face dear to him and familiar to his heart…the face of a traitor. “You betrayed me.”

  Hrolf tugged at Thorvald’s arm. “What are you going to do now?”

  Interesting question. There was one thing he was not going to do. He was not going to crawl into a hole and curl up to die. That path belonged to his father. He’d have no part of it, not now, not ever. “Leave her.”

  Ozrik leveled him a dark look. “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “I said leave her.” Thorvald raised his sword, but another clashed against it, hitting it down. He looked at Hrolf. “What are you doing?”

  The young one shook his head and moved his mouth, but said nothing.

  Instead, Ozrik supplied the words. “She tricked us to save her princess. She was loyal and that’s nothing to punish a person for. That’s all. Show some mercy.”

  That was all? That was all? Thorvald had protected her. Treated her with honor. The lying, duplicitous creature hadn’t told him herself. Even after they’d had sex.

  He forced himself to look at her. “You said you’d never have anything but contempt for me.”

  “And it seems you’re living up to every last one of my expectations.”

  “Yet here we are. You…” He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. It went so much deeper than mere trickery. If he couldn’t put his trust in her…

  Hrolf brandished a sword.

  Thorvald used the end of his own to give the center of Hrolf’s chest a little shove. “I don’t think you want to challenge me. You’re not much more than a boy.”

  Hrolf thrust out his chin, eyes narrowing. “I bested you once, old man. I can do it again.”

  Thorvald grunted. The youngster would be crushed if he knew the truth. Ozrik asked for mercy, and this was the only place Thorvald could find any. The young one would never know the truth of that fight. Hrolf would only see the truth as betrayal. He wouldn’t understand, neither what Thorvald had done, nor why he’d done it. Time and experience were cruel enough. Thorvald didn’t have to be.