by Ree Thornton
As Samara bent over to pull her boots on, her mussed hair fell forward to cover her face, but not fast enough to shield her silent tears from him.
His hands fisted in the blanket. He hated that she was hurting. He should have told her he had feelings for her, but he couldn't do it. There was no way that this could last, and it would only hurt her more to pretend otherwise. He would not make it harder for her to leave him behind—he could spare her that pain at least. He sighed and pressed a hand to his chest. Why did he feel hollow inside, as though a bitter tang of regret lingered in his soul?
She crossed the room with a stilted gait, her rigid posture alerting him that something was terribly wrong. She pulled back the drapery and paused. "Goodnight, Valen."
He'd have thought it an ordinary parting whisper were it not for her melancholy tone when she said his name. A dark sense of foreboding settled over him.
"Why does this feel like goodbye?"
Half-hidden by the shadows, she turned to look back over her shoulder at him, her eyes filled with sorrow.
His throat tightened when she shrugged regretfully, starving him of air until his lungs burned. Somehow, he knew before she even spoke, that he had lost her.
"Because it is goodbye," she whispered, and then she was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Samara
"Princess!"
Samara looked up from the parchment she was transcribing for the Caliph's records as Ásta stumbled to a stop outside her tent, her auburn hair shimmering like red gold in the late afternoon sun. She carefully placed her quill in the holder on her desk that kept the nibs moist and protected.
"Come quickly," Ásta panted.
"What is wrong?" She rose to her feet, her heart thundering in her chest. Was the island under attack? Was someone hurt?
"They're here. Your handmaidens have arrived."
A strangled gasp escaped her. Adela, Karina, Layal, and Saira. Who had survived?
"Hurry." Ásta motioned her forward impatiently.
She picked up her skirts and ran, following Ásta through the tent encampment, past the guards stationed at the north gate, and all the way to the village center. Would her royal attendants be pleased to see her? Or, would she remind them of all they had lost? To be sure, they would have suffered greatly with Leif and his men. Her stomach churned as she passed though the doorway of the great hall. What would she find within?
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Warriors and clanswomen awaiting the evening meal sat at the tables lining the walls, while a cluster of children played a game in the corner with bones and sticks. At the far end of the room, Valen sat on the elevated Jarl's chair, his handsome features grim as he acknowledged her with a somber nod.
She sucked in a shaky breath and followed his gaze to the group of cowering women huddled beside the hearth. Tears welled up behind her eyelids. They lived! All of them.
"Adela." She rushed toward the woman who had cared for her since she was a child and pulled her into an embrace. Thank the stars she was alive! Adela was her rock, her shelter from the storm in the turbulent seas of the royal court. Losing her would have been a crushing blow.
"Princess," Adela whispered, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob.
"Adela..." Her heart ached for her dear friend. She looked into the terrified eyes of the other women huddled behind Adela. "You are safe now. You are all safe."
Karina and Layal flinched, their haunted eyes darting to a commotion near the open door.
Still holding Adela tight, Samara turned to watch her father stride into the great hall, the thundering footsteps of his Haras warriors filling the crowded room.
Every eye in the room followed his commanding presence as he cast his gaze over the handmaidens for visible injuries before continuing toward where Valen sat on the dais overlooking the room.
"Jarl Eriksson."
"Caliph," Valen replied, and nodded respectfully.
"My thanks for the swift return of my daughter's handmaidens. They appear unharmed."
Samara eased Adela from her arms but remained at her side to offer support. She might not be fierce like Rúna, but she would fight to protect these women from further harm.
Valen nodded at her father. "Já. They are well enough to travel."
Her heart sank—all reason to stay disappeared with the arrival of her handmaidens. Soon, she would have to leave Valen and this island behind and return to her life as the Abassid Princess. There would be no more choosing how to spend her days, no more laughing with Ásta and Rúna, and no more Valen.
"Very good, very good. We shall depart at sunrise."
Her father's words hit Samara like a blade to the chest. Her knees weakened and it felt like she would fall.
"You'll not stay for the festivities?" Valen stepped off the dais, onto equal footing with her father.
Hope sparked within her when the Caliph's eyes flashed with approval at the public display of respect from the Viking leader. It was clear he had come to like the young Jarl in the last few days. Mayhap he would delay a while longer?
"You have been a gracious host, Valen, however our business is concluded. I hasten to return my daughter to the palace so she can be wed."
Nei. Samara pressed her hand over her rolling stomach. She could not bear it. She could not marry for duty. She would wither and die like a flower under the hot desert sun. Before, she may have been able to survive such a fate, but she had changed during her time with the Vikings and there was no going back.
"I cannot, Father."
He turned to face her, his dark brows furrowed in confusion. "You cannot what, Daughter?"
She steeled herself to speak aloud the words that would disconnect her from her people, her lands, her world. "I cannot go home with you nor marry a man I do not love."
"Samara..." he said in warning, shooting her a withering glare.
This time she would not cave to his demands, nor be bullied into submitting to his will. She straightened her back and prepared to fight. Her people had their Caliph, they would survive losing her. She couldn't leave the life she had begun to build with these Vikings, and she couldn't leave Valen. If her father loved her, he would understand.
"I cannot return to the palace. I will not." Her eyes drifted towards the man that had claimed her heart.
Valen stood motionless, looking at her in disbelief.
Her father stiffened, his jaw tensing as he followed her gaze. "What is the meaning of this disobedience?"
"I cannot leave, Papa. I love him."
Chapter Eighteen
Valen
Son of Loki! Was Samara trying to get him killed? The air behind him shifted as Rorik moved silently to his side, preparing to defend him. Just last eve she had made it clear that the affair was over and she was leaving.
Her father's face turned a furious shade of red as his head snapped back and forth between the two of them.
Curse the gods! He should have listened to his instincts and stayed away from her. All around the room his warriors rose to their feet, their hands falling to the hilts of their swords, anticipating trouble. If they attacked, there would be mayhem and death. He shook his head and motioned for them to sit. He'd not allow blood to be spilled in his hall.
"YOU WHAT?" the Caliph roared, spittle flying from his mouth.
She'd done it now. He'd been about to attempt to calm the situation, but there was no reasoning with a man in this state. What in Hel was she thinking?
He glanced at where Samara stood, her gaze fixed on her father. Instead of backpedalling or looking contrite, she firmed her lips and jutted her jaw defiantly.
He suppressed a groan. He knew that stubborn look well—there was no way that she would ever back down.
Samara put her hands on her hips and continued. "I love him. I'll not leave."
All of the goodwill he'd built with the Caliph slipped away as the color drained from her father's face. The man was no fool. He would know that his daugh
ter would not make such a claim lightly. He would never believe that naught had happened between them.
"I don't want to marry a stranger. I cannot do it."
He smiled inwardly at Samara's bravery. She was a woman that would fight for what she believed was right, the kind of woman that made a man stronger.
The Caliph pivoted to face him, his glacial glare betraying his barely restrained fury. "Tell her it cannot be or there will be no trade. What say you?"
Valen swallowed hard. His mind was at war with his heart. He could no longer deny that he loved Samara. She'd crept inside his damaged heart and burrowed deep, the warm embrace of her love healing the crushing pain of losing Kalda.
She turned to him, crossed her arms, and stared at him expectantly. He knew she wanted him to declare his affection for her. She would never beg him to claim her, but she knew that in speaking out she was forcing him to choose.
He hesitated. He still had a chance of salvaging these negotiations with the Caliph. If he declared his love now, he would lose his family, his position, and his clan—he couldn't do that. Cursed Freya, for sending him another love that he could not keep. Bile rose in his throat as he choked on the words that would send her away. His eyebrow twitched. His mouth refused to move. He couldn't do it. He couldn't choose.
She blinked and stepped backward. Hurt flashed in her eyes, followed by such apathy that he feared he'd lost her forever.
"A wise decision. The man is not a fool." The Caliph nodded his approval and faced his daughter. "We leave at dawn, Samara."
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her father. "I will not go."
"He'll not have you, girl."
The scathing look she shot Valen was like an axe to his aching heart. Gods, he hated hurting her. He clenched his fists to stop himself from buckling and speaking the truth—I want you, I need you, I love you.
She shrugged at her father. "It matters not. In my heart, I know that I belong with the Vikings, to these people. We have forged bonds from the heart, and they have accepted me as one of their own."
Rúna stepped out of the crowd and placed a hand on Samara's shoulder. "There is a place for you with my clan, sister."
"Gratitude, Rúna. I will join you at Luleavst." Samara turned back to her father. "I know you think you know what is best for me, Papa, but I will not marry a man that I do not love."
Óðinn! His chest was cleaving in two. Samara was giving up her home and life to forge a new one in his world. Her bravery knew no bounds. Blessed Freya, he loved this woman so fiercely that it stole his breath away. He loved her... He loved her. He could not let her live with Rúna. Sending her home to be wed was one thing, but knowing she lived amongst his kind would kill him.
"Wait!" His shout rolled around the room, quieting the chattering noise of the crowd.
"Son?"
He met his father's concerned stare and held up a hand to stop him from speaking further. His father's words mattered not. He was Viking, not whelp, and mere days away from becoming Jarl. It was long past time he ruled his own life in the same steadfast way he ruled the clan. He had made his decision, and it was final.
"Samara..."
"Já?" She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly still bristling at his refusal to claim her.
He crossed to her and reached for her hand. "I want to make a life with you. Say you will be my wife."
Her eyes softened, but she spoke cautiously. "What of your people? You said that you must marry a Viking bride."
Valen shook his head and glanced at where his father stood. No matter what happened, he would not let her go, ever. "If the clan cannot accept our marriage, then I will step down as Jarl."
A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd, but his father remained silent as though he'd expected this turn of events. He would deal with his father later. He must convince Samara to be his bride now.
He looked into her eyes, letting everything else fall away. It was just the two of them, holding hands, their eyes locked. He let down the walls that protected his heart and let her see all of him.
Her eyes widened as she saw the truth in his heart, but he said it aloud anyway.
"I love you, Samara. I choose you too."
Such was the silence around them that the pitter-patter of the barn cat crossing the room sounded like the thundering heart of Ymir the giant.
The sudden screech of Ivvàr pushing out his chair and rising to his feet broke the quiet. "All who accept this union stand and be counted," he said.
"Nei." He shook his head to halt his brother's foolish act. He could not let Ivvàr, or indeed any who chose to side with him, provoke their father's wrath. He would not tear his clan or his family in two by forcing them to choose.
Ivvàr shook his head firmly. "On this the clan must be heard."
All heads turned to where Rasmus Eriksson stood. Though Valen had increasingly been leading the clan, until the ceremony his father was Jarl and could stop this vote. The tense silence built as the old Jarl considered his son.
Valen held his breath and waited. His father had always insisted that his eldest son marry a bride from another Viking clan. In his mind, that was how it had long been done and his son should follow tradition. Yet Valen had just thrown tradition on the floor and stomped on it in a room full of the most powerful Viking families. No noble Viking bride would have him now. Would his father let the clan decide if they wanted to accept Samara and have him as Jarl?
Slowly, his father nodded at him, though his lips remained pressed together in a hard line. He might not agree, but he would respect his decision and allow this to play out. "The clan will be heard."
"Breathe," Samara whispered, as she squeezed his hand.
He inhaled sharply as his heartbeat raced to a deafening pounding in his ears. His entire future, their entire future, would be decided in the next few moments. Would he lead his clan with the woman he loved by his side? Or would they need to forge a new future for themselves elsewhere?
One by one, chairs scraped across the bare earth as his clan rose to their feet, until every person, including the visiting Jarls and Earls were standing.
His father smiled at him, the worry easing from his face. "Clan Eriksson accepts this union."
His heart soared. Mayhap he could have it all? If Samara would have him. He turned and looked down into her amber eyes. "Do you accept, my love?"
A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. "I heard no question."
He grinned at her teasing. Life would never be boring with her by his side. "You will be the death of me yet, Princess." He clasped both her hands in his. "Samara, my love, will you be my wife and lead clan Eriksson by my side?"
She glanced at where the Caliph stood with his arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable as his assessing gaze took in everything around him. When she spoke, it was the quiet whisper of a daughter seeking her father's acceptance.
"Father?"
His gaze softened as he looked at his daughter. "All I want is for you to be happy and safe. If this man is willing to give up everything to have you by his side, then I know he will love and honor you, as you deserve. If this is your wish, then so be it."
Valen cupped her chin when her gaze returned to his, and brushed away the steady stream of tears that ran down her cheeks with his thumbs. "What say you, my love?"
She paused, her eyes dancing with delight, and then winked. "Já. I'll be your wife, Viking."
Chapter Nineteen
Samara
Samara looked around the sacred grove as the first rays of dawn made the frosted green moss shine with an otherworldly beauty. The towering pines overhead sheltered the crowd of witnesses encircling the coronation mound from the cool sea breeze, their evergreen tips swaying in a dance that reminded her of a lover's seduction.
Her rugged Viking warrior stood across from her in his finest garments, his golden hair flowing over the thick black fur cloak that sheltered him from the crisp morning chill. He was be
yond handsome, and he was hers.
"Valen."
He smiled down at her, his mesmerizing blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
A blissful glow filled her as she looked at the man she loved, the forbidden Viking that had claimed her heart. She could barely wait to start their life together, a life she was sure would be filled with adventure and long blissful nights in the arms of her Viking Jarl.
She took the cup from the seiðkonur's outstretched hand, her eyes catching on the swirling henna Adela had inked on her hands and feet last eve in the traditional night of henna ritual. She would miss these special moments with her people, but was glad that Adela had decided to stay with her as she started her new life here with Valen.
"Pass him the cup and you shall be wed," said the seer.
Samara glanced down at the flowing green dress Valen's mother had presented to her this morning before she'd settled the bridal crown on her head and welcomed her to clan Eriksson. A deep sense of satisfaction filled her. These were her people now—she belonged here. She traced her thumb over the carved runes etched in the steel cup. This final act would bond her and Valen to a lifetime together.
"I am yours." She raised the cup and drank from it, and then pressed it into his waiting hand. "Drink and be mine."
He drained the cup and passed it to the seer. "I am yours."
"It is time, son, to become Jarl," his father said, and then turned and walked up the coronation mound.
Valen slid his hand into hers, linking their fingers as he led her up the grassy mound to the sacred stone.
Ràsmus Eriksson turned to face the waiting clan. "I cede my place as Jarl of clan Eriksson."
