The Viking's Captive

by Ingrid Hahn

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve felt better. But that’s not going to stop me. Let’s get the blighted bastard.”

  Thorvald let his hand fall away. He stared out into the last vestiges of night. Maybe there was still time.

  They set out together, tromping through the village, swords in hand. The clear markings of the trunk left no doubt as to their direction. Sure enough, it led directly to the shore.

  There they found the jarl. He was already out on the water. He’d taken a fishing boat. He was fleeing.

  Ozrik started to scramble down toward the rest of the boats. Thorvald caught him. “Let him go.”

  “What? Why?”

  Thorvald stared out at the shapes of two men. They wouldn’t get far in that small vessel. Probably didn’t need to. Erlendr would be welcome in neighboring villages. But only for short periods. There was no point of pride in having a cowardly jarl as a guest. When the story began making its way through the land that he’d fled the battle, his welcome would sour. And stories circulated from the travelers who wandered the hills and mountains.

  “Because to kill him now would be to kill him in cold blood. I won’t have that. Not on my hands. Not on yours.”

  Ozrik drew a sharp breath like he was about to shout and argue, but just as quickly let it out again, shoulders relaxing. “You’re right.”

  Just like that, it was over. A calmness penetrated Thorvald’s bones—like nothing else he’d experienced in all his days. The jarl was gone.

  Only Alodie hung in the balance. Either she accepted him forever, or he’d abide by his promise. Even if it killed him.

  He combed his gaze through the village. Where was she? He swallowed and returned his attention to Ozrik. “We might be setting sail for a different reason very shortly.”

  An unspoken understanding passed between them.

  Ozrik shook his head. “I’m sorry, old friend. After all you’ve done for her, you don’t deserve to lose her.”

  Ah, but it didn’t work that way, did it? She couldn’t accept him out of obligation. And what she deserved was…well, a lot more than him. He’d let her down again and again, made mistake after mistake. Perhaps there was no recovering after the number of times he’d failed.

  But those were things Ozrik wouldn’t understand. Thorvald nodded to the shoreline. “Can you make her ready?”

  Ozrik swung a glance at the ships, then eyed Thorvald. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  His friend nodded. “Very well.” He stalked away, calling men to begin making preparations.

  Chapter Fifty

  The Swim

  Thorvald walked the length of the dock. The planks bent under his weight. He owed the gods his thanks. Not now, though. Later.

  He stood at the edge of the sea. Over the horizon, dawn broke, fiery red growing in the sky with every exhalation Thorvald released.

  He stripped away his garments. The linen stuck where the blood had tried, and he winced when he pulled the material away from the slash on his shoulder. He stunk from battle and was covered in other men’s blood. Neither was pleasing under normal circumstances. To see her again under these layers of filth was out of the question. Naked, he untied his hair and shook out the long locks.

  Leaving all his things in a heap, he dove into the frigid water, straight into a brutal shock of cold. His hands stung, having been bloodied first in combat, then when pounding down the jarl’s door. His man parts shrunk and pulled up tight against his body. The pounding at the back of his skull began to abate.

  Even on the longest, hottest days of high summer, this water was too cold for any man to linger in too long.

  He glided through the water. Kick, stroke, glide. Kick, stroke, glide.

  Somewhere out there, far, far away, Sigurd was feasting in Ran’s great hall. May it be that Thorvald’s story would be carried over wind and wave and someday reach his cousin’s ear. He’d let go of the secrets keeping him in bondage. He’d overthrown the jarl. Sigurd would be proud.

  Thorvald broke the surface and inhaled a deep breath, then began to swim back to shore.

  A lone figure waited for his return. When he could reach the bottom, he planted his feet and walked the rest of the way. He wrung the salty sea out of his hair. “We had an agreement. I await your decision.”

  Water dripped from his body.

  “So we did.” She remained calm as winter’s first dusting of snow. “I believe you promised me a ship.”

  …

  Alodie tried to ignore his nudity. All the rest of the people across the entire surface of the world could be as bare as could be and she would be immune. With him, everything was different. Thorvald roused her interest. He was put together…well, perfectly. The cuts and scars and bruises did nothing to detract from the breathtaking view. God had beauty in mind when he’d sculpted this man.

  She wouldn’t be distracted. No matter how much she wanted to roam her gaze over him, lingering on the bulges of his arms, and that peculiar masculine line cut above each hip. And…and…that part of him that had been inside of her. If he turned, she could have a better view of his backside, too.

  She swallowed, wishing as desperately he would turn around as would not.

  This was a trial, nothing more. She’d pass. She wouldn’t give in to her earthy instincts. There were words to be said and say them she would.

  She stood with her feet firmly planted upon the shore, ready to fight. He’d promised her a ship and a ship she would have.

  Thorvald stayed silent.

  So silent, the fight in her began to abate. “Aren’t you going to try to convince me to stay?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  Until today, she’d believed going home was impossible. Now it wasn’t and he wasn’t going to go back on his word. There was nothing to keep her here. She didn’t want anything to keep her here, either. She didn’t. Home was what mattered. The place of her birth. The place she hoped to someday, in the distant, distant future, have her bones laid to rest.

  Somewhere along the line, she’d lost track of the days. But, if they left today and met no hardships, she might be home to partake in the celebration of the princess’s marriage. The chance was small, but not nonexistent.

  “Not in the slightest.” She raised her chin. “There is nothing for me here.”

  He gave a resigned nod. “Exactly what I thought you’d say.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Alodie’s Ship

  Alodie parted ways with Birna at the dock. “Thank you for everything.”

  “I will be praying for your safe passage.”

  Alodie balked at having her name invoked along with their pagan gods. She opened her mouth to object, but stopped herself. It was well meant. And what would she do about convincing the woman of the dreadful error of her ways in the span of a few brief moments? “Thank you again.”

  Birna brushed a strand of hair away from Alodie’s face then took both Alodie’s hands in hers. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

  “Your company and kindness softened a difficult time. I will never forget that.”

  The older woman smiled, face crinkling. “That means a lot to me.” Her lips pulled together and she tossed a brief, stealthy glance behind Alodie. “I’m sorry about him.”

  Looking over her shoulder to see who Birna referred to wasn’t necessary. “You weren’t to know.”

  “About his father being a coward and what happened between him and the jarl? No. But I was the only mother he ever knew. I feel about him as I do my own son, and with that comes a mother’s guilt about having raised a man who wasn’t able to—”

  “It’s all right.” Alodie meant no disrespect in interrupting, but hearing any more would upset the delicate state of her emotions. Coming to live with the demons had changed her. Th
orvald had changed her. Going home, she needed to shed those invisible marks that had altered her.

  As it stood, everything was fresh and raw. Maybe with time the scars would turn pale.

  “Come.” Behind her, a deep voice spoke. “We still have plenty of daylight. We’ll make headway today.”

  Best not to put it off any longer, he meant.

  Alodie and Birna embraced. Then Alodie swept her eyes one last time over the village. It didn’t seem so strange or heathen now. The first time she’d seen it…

  Not a day she cared to recall.

  She ignored Thorvald’s hand and made her way to the ship by herself. This time when Alodie went aboard, it was of her own volition. Ozrik helped her, Thorvald looked on. She didn’t care to examine what might have been shining out of his eyes. If he’d wanted the privilege of aiding her, there were a great many things he should have done differently.

  …

  They embarked, setting sail before the sun reached its zenith.

  The men on this voyage were more subdued. Thorvald’s place among them was taken for granted. There was less urgency. And somehow, less of a sense of purpose.

  His authority, however, seemed quieter. More subtle and collected. That might have been due to how he behaved. He put his head down and worked. Maybe he was trying to be nothing more than one among his men, but this way the warriors treated him with even greater deference and respect than before.

  Alodie watched, saying nothing and speaking to nobody. Ozrik made a few attempts, for which she was grateful. There were just…no words to be had.

  The days dragged out. The sun rose and took its time crossing the sky. It seemed night would never come.

  Then it would…

  Thorvald’s cloak would come down. He’d put his sword down. Maybe he’d glance to her. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  They’d rest together. Side by side. She’d fold her hands on the bottom of her ribs. The waves would slosh gently against the sides. If it rained, he’d pull another layer over her. She would turn over, away from him, face covered but for the tented hole she made to peer out and breathe.

  One morning turned into another. The endless sea was featureless and undefinable. The days melted into each other.

  And then they didn’t.

  It was early. They’d been hugging the shoreline, passing unfamiliar outcrops of rocks, overgrown forests, and quiet beaches. The morning mists were still clinging to the earth. The shorebirds circled and dived.

  Alodie might as well have been reliving the morning the nightmare had begun. Except this time, she wasn’t lingering on the sand watching the morning. She was on the ship—standing at its prow, even. Her eyes scanned a place she’d never thought to see again. In some ways the voyage back seemed shorter. In others, longer.

  Thorvald gave an order and the men jumped over the gunwale, splashing into the waves. Working together, they brought the ship ashore.

  He came to her.

  Their eyes met. “You’re home.”

  “So I am.” Her heart hammered.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled. The air was subtly different from the air in the land of the Norsemen. She’d never appreciated the exact fragrances before. The cool freshness. The slight dampness of the morning, even in high summer. It had simply been the air they all breathed. Now she knew that different places in the world could smell different.

  Tangled up in her intention not to let being kidnapped change her, she was going to have to grapple with the knowledge of the world being bigger and more varied than she could have imagined.

  Gently, Thorvald lifted her out and set her upon the beach. There. Her feet once again touched home. This was the place she was supposed to be.

  Why does it feel different?

  “Are you all right?” The wind fluttered strands of his hair around his face.

  “Nervous, I’ll own.” She glanced down, avoiding making eye contact. “Thank you for keeping your word.”

  “You doubted I would?”

  “Not really. I know you’re a man of honor.” She chanced an upward glance. Their gazes met. The first time she’d seen the color of his irises, she’d imagined him plucking the color from the very sky itself. The intensity shining outward made her breath hitch. “More honor than I could have guessed.”

  “It all came down to you. I hope I’ve proved that I will do anything for you. Anything. If you choose to remember nothing of what’s happened since I first took you, I hope you might make an exception for that.”

  There was nothing to say.

  They made their way up together, side by side. Almost as if…as if they were united.

  They didn’t have far to go. The weathered gray of the timber encircling the fortress wasn’t visible when a large band of people met them. Rows of men stood ready to fight. All those who hadn’t been present the last time when Alodie had been taken. At the rear, the king sat on horseback flanked by a few of his most trusted men, each upon the backs of their own beasts.

  The men were poised and ready. Alodie held up a hand. “Wait. They’re not here to hurt you.”

  A murmur went through the group. The small flanks parted, making way for a group of women. Ladies came forward, some with more fearful looks than others. As to the center figure, the princess, she had never worn an expression of such open shock. She quickly recovered. “Alodie. You’ve returned.”

  The familiar tones of her native tongue were unexpectedly pleasurable.

  Alodie showed her deference. “I have, my lady. You appeared quickly.”

  “Since…since the last time, we’ve had men guarding the beach all day and all night.”

  Cyneburga’s gaze narrowed. “I predicted she was conspiring with them. I said so before she left. I said so after she left. Now look at her.” The woman glanced scornfully at Alodie, gaze trailing up and down. “She’s dressed like them. She’s as good as one of them.”

  A stubborn cloud of defensiveness hazed Alodie’s vision. Pagan practices aside, being one of them would not be an insult. They weren’t the only invaders marauding the lands. They were new and they were frightening and they were good at what they did. But they were not as strange as popular rumor would have one believe.

  She leveled out a reply from between clenched teeth. “He brought me back. They’re not here to hurt us.”

  “Because you’re going to show them where to take all the valuables, I assume?”

  Alodie’s mouth pinched. She wasn’t about to let that pass by without comment.

  “I would never”—she struggled to keep her tone free of rancor—“help anyone hurt anyone else. Least of all the people I grew up with, worked beside, and served for most of the days of my life. I don’t hurt people, whether by aiding those who do or by inflicting harm myself.”

  A memory of slashing the jarl’s chest with her hidden knife rushed through her mind. That was different. Her bodily autonomy had been at stake. She didn’t even feel the need to go to confession. God couldn’t hold anything against her for wanting to keep herself safe.

  “No?” Cyneburga sneered. She pointed back toward the beach. “Then explain that. They came to bring you back, too?”

  Alodie and Thorvald turned at the same time.

  Sure enough, approaching the beach were three more ships. Burly men jumped out to bring their vessels the rest of the way to shore.

  A figure stood at the helm of the middle ship, the sight of him filling Alodie with harrowing dread.

  The jarl.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Battle

  It clinked into place like a misplaced gold coin falling back to its brethren. The jarl had never intended to run away. He’d taken the treasure and raised himself a hasty army, promising them greater riches to come if they followed him on a raid.

  Thorvald didn’t have time to think. He turned back t
o the woman who must have been the true princess, then remembered she wouldn’t understand him. “Alodie, tell your princess that I need her men to fight alongside mine.”

  The young woman was stately, with a graceful air. She smiled. “I understand you perfectly well, stranger.” She spoke his tongue with the same slight accent Alodie did.

  A man on horseback broke forward through the lines of men and said something to her. She replied in the smooth tones of one engaging in subtle persuasion. Whatever she said made him go red in the face. He looked at Thorvald and spat. Alodie grabbed Thorvald’s arm.

  He addressed her quietly without turning his gaze away from the other man—the king, presumably. “It’s all right. I know what I must do. Tell them if they want to live, they will follow me.”

  The color vanished from her face, making her eyes more enormous than ever. She shook her head. “I won’t. There are too many of them. They’ll”—her voice wavered—“they’ll slaughter you.”

  He’d violated his own code of behavior when he’d decided that a vow to a man like the jarl couldn’t also be a vow to the gods. This was the fight he’d been waiting for. He wasn’t about to back down, not when everything dearest to him hung in the balance.

  “Then we’ll die honorably.” Spine braced with impenetrable determination, he nodded once. “Tell them. Now.”

  Alodie opened her mouth as if she might refuse, but she did as she was bid, an impassioned plea falling from her lips. The men on the ground glanced uneasily between him and their king.

  There was no more time to lose. Alone with the men he’d sailed with, he was horribly outnumbered. It wasn’t a trivial consideration, but neither would it stop him from fighting. For now, he wouldn’t think about it.

  Thorvald turned, but a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He turned to her, fear radiating from her features. “Please. Please, don’t. You’re horribly outnumbered…”

  “I will do what I must to keep you safe.”

  “We haven’t a chance of staying safe if you’re dead.” Her grip on him tightened.

  “What other choice do I have? If I don’t try to fend them off now—”