The Viking's Captive

by Ingrid Hahn

  She moved side to side, flush with the unwelcome awareness of what Thorvald had so recently done to her backside…and what it had led to.

  Birna began to work. Weaving was not a quick task, and she didn’t move with any particular hurry to see it finished, either. Instead, she moved methodically through the actions, attentive of everything she did, every movement she made.

  “Tell me about your princess.”

  Alodie’s attention snapped up. “I hardly know where to begin.”

  “You took her place. That couldn’t have been an easy thing. But she must have been worthy of what you did.”

  “She…” How could she describe the princess? The princess was a presence. A force. “She…has a keen insightfulness into others and can utilize her talent to navigate treacherous waters.”

  Birna gave Alodie a sidelong glance, brows slightly together in curiosity. “Sounds like Jarl Erlendr.”

  The jarl? Everything in Alodie balked at the very idea. She shook her head decisively. “No. Not at all. They’re nothing alike. The princess sees our—her—borders protected, her people fed, safe, and prosperous. The jarl puts people in servitude.”

  And manipulates them. Like whatever he used to keep Thorvald in thrall.

  “Two reflections in the same mirror.” Birna fiddled with some of the threads on her loom.

  Alodie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “They can easily share the same strengths and apply them to wildly different purposes. Two reflections. Your princess is a reflection into daylight. Our jarl…”

  A reflection into night.

  “Could the same be true for one man?”

  Birna glanced back. “What do you mean?”

  What she’d meant was—could one man be split into two reflections? A reflection into day and a reflection into night.

  “Never mind.” Alodie bowed her head. She wasn’t going to think about him anymore today.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Thorvald’s Broken World

  Deep into the woods, Thorvald hacked his way through the underbrush. Alone. Lost. Forsaken.

  The higher he went into the hills, the cooler the air became in the shady pockets of the wood. The harder he pushed himself, the more sweat poured from his brow, the more his heart beat.

  All for what?

  He could have burned his body until his bones were dry and brittle. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Nothing would have changed. He’d still be the son of a coward.

  At an outcropping of boulders, Thorvald reached a hand up, feeling along the stone for a place he might grab. He brushed away clumps of moss and dirt fell in his face. He sputtered, wiped his face on his sleeve, and started again. He strained, grabbing on and pulling himself up with the slightest hold on the surface. His fingers burned. Partway there, he slid back down. He rose, brushed himself off, and started again.

  Slowly, he fought his way to the top. His hands were bloody, his trousers torn.

  From up here, the wind tousled the loose strands of his hair. He stood and surveyed the landscape. A ravine below. Mountains beyond, misted by the distance. A perfectly clear sky without a hint of a cloud. Thousands upon thousands of trees, as far as the eye could see.

  Somewhere out there was his father. Or what might be left of him. It was entirely possible the old man had died many seasons ago. Maybe he was nothing but scattered pieces near a rotting encampment he’d constructed. Or a freshly rotting corpse, bloated and stinking and crawling with insects.

  It was no more than a coward deserved. Dying alone, food for animals. Never buried, bones left to whiten in the sun and slowly sinking into mud a little more after each rain. Leaving nobody to cry, mourn, or remember.

  But if his father were alive, how long would he take to find?

  Thorvald didn’t want to see him. Never had, not since that day…

  The question Thorvald struggled with in his life after his father had fled—why?—had no answer. What his father had done ruined Thorvald’s life and cost him everything.

  Everything.

  He sat down on the boulder and stared out into the sea of green spreading out below. Where would his father have gone? Why had he left?

  But it didn’t matter, did it? Thorvald would never have answers. He could spend the whole rest of his life searching and never find him or the answers.

  It was hopeless.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The Jarl Comes

  It was afternoon and Alodie was with Birna, seeing to the goats, when a line of men appeared on the horizon. Slowly and steadily they made their way up the hard-packed path winding from the village directly toward the hut. The two women sat on stools together, milking the animals, a task Alodie had enjoyed in her old life. The goats shied away from the oncoming figures, making noisy sounds of indignation as they tried to press together.

  Birna sat back and shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “What…?”

  The dogs of the village barked wildly, as if warning of untold things to come. Alodie wiped her brow to clear the strands of hair from her vision. The jarl walked, flanked by men bearing spears.

  Birna shot Alodie a dubious look, brows raised. “Are you more dangerous than you appear?”

  The attempt at lightheartedness was welcome, but Alodie’s pulse was already clacking like the wings of a nervous insect. She could only shake her head. “If I were, I wish I knew it.”

  The only power she’d ever had was to work hard and earn the trust of those more powerful than she. Previously, before the demons, the tactic had served her well. Being big and strong as a work horse, that’s all she’d needed.

  All right, she wasn’t quite so big and strong as that. Merely bigger and stronger than most of the women around her, which had sometimes resulted in teasing. As a child, the words had cut deeply, haunting her with sensations of deficiency. Of not fitting in.

  Then she’d put it to her advantage. When she learned what she could accomplish and what it meant to people—to her, she’d stopped caring. Even become proud of what she was.

  It was different now. She had to remember she wasn’t simply a physical being. She was also a mind—a keen one. She had to trust in her wits to see her through what was to come.

  Birna moved the wooden pails of warm milk, set them by the door, then shooed the goats back to their enclosure. She was tying the gate shut as the men arrived. Brushing her hands clean, she came to stand next to Alodie. The woman might not have had the physical strength and presence of her warrior nephew, but neither was she a weakling. Having her close strengthened Alodie’s resolve.

  “Well? What now?” Birna faced down the jarl with the calm collectedness of a mother wolf. She’d broker no nonsense with anyone or anything who dared to come too close to her cub.

  The sensation of Birna’s protectiveness threatened to topple Alodie’s inner steadiness. It wasn’t like Thorvald’s protectiveness. He’d been all feral male, wild and untamed, staking a claim on something that wasn’t his when he had no right to it. Birna, by contrast, was maternal. Showing, without a doubt, Alodie wasn’t alone in this strange new place.

  The jarl’s gaze dropped to the stain on her dress. He glanced back up again. “I’ve come to collect my daughter.”

  Heart hardened by the assertion, Alodie glanced at the men. Many wore curious expressions, searching her features for signs of resemblance.

  Didn’t matter. She cared not for whatever they might or might not think they saw in her face. Yesterday, she’d stared at her reflection herself. There was nothing she saw that would ever make her accept that he could be the man…

  Alodie turned back to glower at the jarl. All she had to do was look at him to spill the poison of vengeance into her veins.

  If she still had the knife Thorvald had given her, she’d have carved the jarl’s face into shreds, t
hen sliced away his penis right at the root. A man like him who’d done what he’d done to her mother, and who knew how many others, didn’t deserve death. He deserved agony. Suffering. Humiliation. The loss of everything he might hold dear and the memories—nay, the ceaseless waking nightmares—of having it ripped away from him. “I’m nothing of the sort.”

  He remained cool. “Irrefutable proof, I realize, cannot be made. But I believe you are.”

  “All you ever did was inflict horror, like the demon you are.”

  “Think of me how you choose.” He signaled to his men with a nod.

  The two directly on either side of him stalked forward, their faces rigid with the sort of blank determination that accompanied men who didn’t give orders, but thoughtlessly took them. The scar running down one of their cheeks and a milky eye set in the head of the second gave them a menacing look. The shells of men being eaten away by a demon.

  Alodie instinctively shrank back.

  It was too late. They each grabbed ahold of one arm and dragged her forward. She tugged, but their grips were iron-hard. “What are you doing with me? Let me go.”

  Birna shouted.

  Neither Alodie’s words nor Birna’s objections had any effect. Not that she’d really believed they would.

  The men began dragging her down the hill toward the village. There was nothing she could do about it. Once again, she was helpless. Caught in the plots and schemes of other men, her future uncertain.

  The jarl had given her permission to think of him as she chose. Damn him, she didn’t need his permission for anything. Except he was taking literally every other choice she might make for herself.

  “Wait!” It was Birna calling out. The men ignored her. “Wait, wait, please wait. Let her at least go in my house to collect her things.”

  They paused to glance at their jarl, their hold tight around Alodie’s arms. The jarl gave a shallow nod. “Quickly.”

  The men released Alodie. She darted back to Birna, who ushered her inside the hut. Birna shut the door. Breath baited, Alodie waited to see what the other woman would say. She didn’t have anything that wasn’t already with her, so Birna must have needed one final word.

  “I can’t help you in any meaningful fashion, but maybe this will come of use.” Birna spoke low and moved quickly, grabbing herbs that hung upside down from a ceiling beam and untying the bunch. She pulled away a handful of dried leaves and stuffed them into a small pouch. She pressed it in Alodie’s hands, whispering in case anyone outside was trying to listen. “When you get them their food, mix this in before you serve them. It will make them sleep.”

  It was no knife. In some ways, though, it was far more powerful. An herb could be kept secret and plied on unsuspecting victims.

  Birna continued. “When you escape them, come back to me. I’ll be ready. We’ll set out and I’ll take you far away from here.”

  “Just us?” Alodie’s limbs went heavy. Her life was taking another turn. One that would take her away from…well, him—for good.

  Curse the man. And curse her for thinking of him still. What did she think she wanted? For him to overthrow the jarl? He’d already shown he couldn’t. They’d shared one passionate encounter. What had it meant? Everything else between them…well, it wasn’t fixable, was it?

  “Ozrik will help. As will others. The jarl has no true friends and little power beyond the village.”

  Alodie shook her head. “You can’t leave on my account.”

  Birna’s face softened. “If I let this happen to a fellow woman—if I stood by, watching and doing nothing—I wouldn’t deserve to draw breath another day. Let me.” Her voice went shaky and her face hardened in that way of people in the deepest throes of grief when they have no time to weep. “Besides, it’s a small way in which I can honor my son’s memory.”

  “But…your life. Your weaving. Your animals…”

  “People will care for them for me. Nothing goes to waste here.”

  “But they’re yours. It’s your life.”

  “Even the most precious and rare of things are just things, after all.” Birna nodded decisively. “Now go. Quickly.”

  Limbs heavy, Alodie returned outside, the pouch securely tied about her waist. She sent an icy gaze to the armed men, then glared at the jarl. “I’m here, but I don’t come willingly.”

  He dismissed her with a wave. “The least of my concerns.”

  The men descended upon her again, taking her and beginning to pull her back down to the village. The jarl kept close.

  “Why are you taking me?”

  “I have found another use for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  When Thorvald had taken her, at least she’d had an inkling of why—because he’d thought her the princess. What use did Erlendr have for her now that he was convinced they shared blood?

  They headed directly back to the main hall where so much had already taken place. She’d been married to the jarl. Gone with Thorvald for punishment…had sex with him instead. Then had to confront the horrifying thought of what the jarl had done to her mother.

  The inside smelled of residual smoke, cooked meat, and sweaty men. The men handling Alodie shoved her toward the waiting women.

  “Make her ready,” the jarl ordered.

  Alodie spun to face him in confusion. She nearly shrieked. Never would she claim him as her father, but never could she escape the possibility either. “I can’t be your wife.”

  He gave her a cold look. “Nor do I want you as such.”

  “Then what—”

  “You’re my daughter. I can do with you as I please.”

  She shook her head, all thoughts and conjectures vanishing from her mind. “And what exactly do you propose?”

  “You are going to be a gift. A gift to my best warrior.”

  Air vanished from Alodie’s lungs. “Thorvald?”

  The jarl’s face twisted. The women around them exchanged looks and a few of the men watching grunted in amusement. “Not Thorvald. The man who bested him.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Thorvald Decides to Fight

  Thorvald cracked his eyes open, gasping for breath. He was covered—again—in cold sweat. He was still on the boulder. Somehow he’d fallen asleep. The angle of the sun said it was late afternoon. Every bone, every muscle, every filament ached—but not from the punishment he’d inflicted upon himself coming up here.

  He’d dreamed again. The same dream he’d suffered last night. He’d been a boy, back at the battle, watching, screaming, desperate. He’d seen it all again. His father. The enemy. The terror.

  Except this time when his father turned and ran, it wasn’t him. It was Thorvald running. Thorvald in terror. Thorvald turning coward.

  Thorvald scrambled up and screamed into the abyss. The energy coiled in his body shot through every limb. He would check his rage no longer. He didn’t want to, nor did he care.

  He jumped down from the boulder, too charged with the thunder and lightning of his purpose to feel the shock that must have shaken his bones in the daring leap. He barely had his balance before he was running back to the village.

  Since his return, all he’d thought about was the vow he’d made to the jarl. He’d lost sight of the vow he’d made to himself.

  Freedom.

  He had to fight. His life was worth nothing if he didn’t. He’d have one chance for redemption. One single precious chance to thwart the jarl once and for all and win back the most important thing—the only person who could make life bearable.

  Alodie.

  He didn’t need to struggle to recall what old Ingerun had said to him that evening of his return.

  A memory flashed before his eyes, clear as if he were reliving the incident—the storm. Sigurd vanishing. Thorvald almost letting go and letting himself be swept dow
n into the black depths. And her, risking her own life to save him.

  Without sunlight, gold did not glow.

  Erlendr was the darkness plaguing their existence. Alodie was the gold. If there was sunlight to be restored upon the world, it was up to Thorvald to fight for it.

  He’d wronged her so many times…failed her. He didn’t deserve her and probably never would. But if he fought, won, then fell at her feet to pledge himself to her for all time, she just might show him mercy.

  He had to hope.

  This time, there would be no turning back. Thorvald was either going to win…or die trying.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Thorvald Returns…Again

  A vow to a man was a vow to the gods.

  Until now, Thorvald had always been prisoner to his word. That changed. Tonight.

  Thorvald stood back in the trees as darkness fell slowly upon the village. Another feast was beginning in the jarl’s great hall. He’d been gone the span of a day. What could have happened in such a short amount of time?

  Up on the hill tucked partway into the trees stood Birna’s little hut, just as it had for many long winters. No smoke came from the small hole in the roof. Not unusual for this time of year. The long stretches of sunlight warmed the air. She wouldn’t have gone to the feast, would she? Unlikely. She had no love for the jarl, and made no secret of it.

  Which meant Alodie was probably up there with her. What were they doing?

  He couldn’t mind about that now and looked back at the great hall. He would fight the jarl. Once it was over and done with, he could see her.

  If he saw her beforehand and told her of his plans, he might raise her hopes. If he raised her hopes, he would distract himself. Her hopes would weigh him down. It was an odd thing. But she would know soon enough. If he were victorious, he would march up the hill, take her in his arms, twirl her around under the stars, and make violent love to her until dawn.

  He paused. The list of reparations he had to make was long and grave. She might not accept him tonight.