Stolen By The Viking (Sons 0f Sigurd Series Book 1)

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘Our men train each day,’ he said. ‘They are prepared for any battle or raid.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. She believed him from what she had seen thus far. And yet, another question abraded her mind. ‘Has there been a recent threat that called Feann away? I thought he intended to return to Killcobar sooner than this.’

  ‘There have been many threats,’ Darin answered. ‘Not only from other kings, but also from our alliances.’

  A sense of foreboding caught her, and she wondered if he meant a threat from Oisin. More and more, she wondered if it had been a mistake to leave him alive. She tried to push back her apprehensions, and she thanked him quietly.

  The captain returned to the other soldiers who were training outside. Among them were Alarr and Rurik, though they remained apart from the others. They sparred against one another, using dulled swords. Both men had stripped away their tunics, bared from the waist up. Though it was not a warm summer day, their bodies gleamed with sweat from exertion. Breanne stopped to watch, and she was not alone. Several women found reasons to stop their tasks and observe the sword fight.

  Alarr swung his weapon hard, and Rurik blocked it with his shield. Over and over, he struck, and his brother met each blow. Then Rurik took the lead and wielded his weapon against his older brother. Their movements were smooth, like a dance, and their expertise was evident. But after a while longer, she saw Alarr’s movement beginning to change. No longer was it an easy deflection, but instead, she saw the slight limp in his step. His brother seized the advantage and struck harder, forcing Alarr to retreat. His limp grew more pronounced, and Rurik continued to wield punishing blows against him.

  Abruptly, Alarr stumbled and dropped to the ground. Rurik moved in for the kill, but before he could do anything, his brother tripped him and sent him sprawling. A moment later, he stood over Rurik with his sword against his brother’s throat.

  With a wry grin, he offered his arm and pulled Rurik to stand, while some of the men applauded. Some exchanged coins, revealing that they had gambled on the fight. Alarr waited until the others returned to their sparring, before he walked towards her. Though he tried to disguise it, she could still see his limp.

  His gaze was heated, and Breanne stood her ground, watching him. Other women eyed him with interest, but he strode past them until he reached her side. Without a word, he took her hand in his and led her away. She knew his leg was bothering him, but he continued walking towards the stables.

  ‘Are we going somewhere?’ she asked, but he didn’t answer.

  The moment they were inside the stable, he pressed her up against a horse stall and kissed her hard. She wound her arms around his neck, answering his kiss with her own. His tongue threaded with hers, and she felt the answering pull deep inside her.

  ‘I’ve been needing to touch you,’ he said. ‘This has gone on long enough.’

  ‘I agree,’ she said. His mouth moved to her throat, and she touched his bare chest, tracing the ridged muscles.

  ‘I want you,’ he growled. ‘Here and now.’

  ‘Anyone could see us,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not safe.’ But the idea of being taken like this was arousing in a way she hadn’t expected. Alarr was already reaching beneath her skirts when she felt a warm tongue against her ear. She started laughing when she realised that the horse was peering over the stall, licking the salt from her skin.

  ‘Ugh.’ She started to pull away, and the horse whinnied, shaking its head.

  Alarr was grinning, and he drew her away from the stall. ‘This wasn’t my intention, søtnos. It was an impulse.’

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. ‘Impulse or not, I promise you this night you may have me in any way you wish. Wait for me in your tent, and I will come to you.’

  He took her lips, gripping her hips so she could feel his rigid staff. Then he lifted her up, and she drew her legs around his waist. ‘Or I could have you now.’

  ‘I’d rather have hours with you,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t want to stop. And the others will wonder where I’ve gone.’

  He cupped her breast, toying with her erect nipple. ‘Swear it, Breanne.’

  ‘I will find a way. I swear it.’ She ground herself against him, and he inhaled sharply at the contact. He held her there a moment, until at last, he let her down. She drew her hands over his chest, loving the feeling of his body beneath her palms.

  No sooner had they left the stable, when there was a commotion from the gates. Breanne released his hand when she saw the horses approaching. Behind the first two riders, she spied Feann. His gaze narrowed when he saw her, but it was not the look of a man who was happy to have her home. There was tension there, and it sharpened when he stared at them. Alarr rested his palm upon her spine in a possessive manner, raising his chin in defiance.

  Although she ought to be overjoyed at the sight of Feann, her heartbeat began to quicken. For she suspected that he would not approve of them being together. It was more likely that he would attempt to sever their relationship entirely.

  Feann dismounted and crossed past the others to stand before her. His face was a hard mask asserting his dominance.

  ‘You’ve returned, I see. And brought enemies among us.’

  Chapter Nine

  Alarr met Feann’s gaze, and there was no doubt that the man remembered him. Fury brewed in the king’s eyes, especially when he saw their joined hands. His own anger was barely in check, for the very sight of his enemy evoked the memory of the swordfight. He recalled Feann’s fury when the blade sliced through skin and muscle, nearly ending Alarr’s ability to walk. The past rose up between them, and were it not for his promise to Breanne, he would have claimed his vengeance this very moment. The man’s life meant nothing to him.

  ‘Alarr and Rurik are not our enemies,’ Breanne said. ‘And this isn’t a conversation I wish to have outside. Come and join us for food and drink. We will talk about what has happened.’

  ‘I will speak with you, Breanne,’ Feann said. ‘But not them.’

  ‘Come inside,’ Breanne repeated. ‘We will dine alone, the four of us.’ She did not wait for her father’s agreement, but instead led the way, holding Alarr’s hand in hers while Rurik trailed them.

  The interior of her father’s home was warm from the heated stones set all around the room. Breanne gave orders for food and busied herself with preparations. Alarr stood with Rurik, noting the number of guards who joined them. The king was not a fool, and he spaced out his guards in a circle all around the room.

  Feann took his place at table, in the centre of the dais. He motioned for Breanne to come and sit beside him, but she hesitated. With a look towards Alarr, she picked up another stool and brought it with her, nodding for Rurik to do the same.

  It took an effort to hide his smile. Breanne was eliminating any chance of Feann presiding over them. After she set down the stool, she stood before her foster father, but he noticed that she did not embrace the man. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

  Feann only grunted and sat. Breanne joined him, and Alarr chose the seat on her opposite side. Rurik also sat, but he kept a wise distance from the king.

  ‘Why have you brought them here, Breanne?’

  Alarr felt her fingers reaching beneath the table for his hand, as if she wanted the security. He squeezed her palm in reassurance.

  She straightened, raising her chin. ‘A better question might be, why didn’t you send men to find me when I was taken away into slavery? Alarr saved me and brought me home. And yet, you treat him like an enemy.’

  ‘His father was my enemy,’ Feann said. ‘After what Sigurd did to my sister, Saorla, he deserved to die. Why should Sigurd’s sons be any different?’ His eyes blazed with fury, as if he already suspected the intimacy between them.

  ‘Because they did nothing to you,’ Breanne argued. ‘And yet, your men attacked on Alarr’s wedding day. What you
did was wrong.’

  ‘You have no right to judge my actions, Breanne. What I did was justice.’

  ‘Many innocents died that day,’ Alarr said. He could not hide the rage in his voice. ‘Your men killed dozens of my kinsmen. And my bride.’

  ‘So you came here to kill me, is that it?’ Feann’s rigid stare held no empathy. ‘You used Breanne for your own purpose.’

  ‘At first, that was my intent,’ he admitted. ‘But she bargained for your life.’

  There was a faint surprise in the man’s face, as if he’d not expected Alarr to confess the truth. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better about dining with you?’

  ‘We need to talk about what should be done,’ Breanne started to say, but Feann cut her off.

  ‘Do you really think I would believe any words spoken by a Lochlannach?’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘My men will escort you out. I give you the gift of your lives, for Breanne’s sake. Go now, before I order my men to cut you down.’

  ‘No.’ Breanne stood, her face pale. ‘Alarr will remain at my side.’

  At her declaration, Feann’s face grew thunderous. ‘Why would you dare such a thing, Breanne?’

  Alarr stood beside her, still holding her hand. He didn’t trust the man’s rage, and he intended to guard Breanne from all harm.

  ‘Because Alarr took care of me when I needed help. He rescued me from the slave market, and he protected me from Oisin.’ Her voice was tremulous, but she slid her arm around his waist to emphasise her words. Alarr pulled her close, watching as Feann’s mood darkened. Against his body, he could feel the tremor of her fear.

  ‘I will not let you remain with a Lochlannach,’ the king insisted. ‘Especially one who wants me dead.’

  She faced him boldly, and admitted, ‘I would rather have a man willing to fight for me than one who treats me as if I am worth nothing at all.’

  Feann’s face turned stony. ‘I knew nothing of your captivity until recently. And by then, my men had found you.’ There was no sympathy in his tone, and Alarr sensed that the man was holding something back. There were secrets the king was keeping, though he could not guess what they were.

  ‘I want you to leave Killcobar,’ Feann commanded Alarr. ‘Take your brother with you, and do not return. Breanne, you will remain here.’

  Her face turned scarlet with her own anger, and she levelled a stare at Feann. ‘I brought these men here because Alarr deserves justice for the murder of his bride and his father. I told him that the brehons would treat them fairly. But I never imagined you would behave in this way. I believed that you were a man of honour.’

  ‘I owe nothing to these men,’ Feann countered. ‘They are lucky I didn’t kill them that day.’

  Before Breanne could respond, Rurik stepped forward. ‘There is more you should know about your sister, Feann. I believe you will want to hear my tale.’ He paused a moment, then added, ‘Or perhaps I should call you Uncle.’

  At that, Feann froze. He stared hard at Rurik, but his emotions were unreadable. It was a risky move, but Alarr understood why his brother had spoken. The question was whether the king would recognise Rurik as his nephew.

  ‘Saorla was my mother,’ Rurik continued. ‘She gave birth to my twin brother Danr and me after she reached Maerr.’

  ‘You have no proof of that,’ Feann started to say. ‘Why would I believe this?’

  ‘She told me stories about you,’ Rurik continued. ‘Though she refused to speak any names from her past, she told me that the two of you were close. And that you gave her a blade when she was young.’ He unsheathed the knife and held it out hilt-first.

  At that, Feann’s expression transformed. He took the blade and examined it, running his thumb along the curved antler handle. He glanced back at Rurik for a long moment, his gaze passing over him. There was an unreadable emotion in his eyes, a flare of grief mingled with distrust.

  Rurik asked, ‘Why did you come to Maerr to attack my father? It was twenty years since Saorla left. If you wanted to kill our father, why wait that long?’

  ‘I did not know that Sigurd had set her aside,’ Feann said. ‘I believed Saorla made the choice for her own happiness, to wed a man she loved.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘But I was wrong to let her go with him. Once I learned the truth, I sailed across the sea to kill Sigurd for what he did to my sister.’

  It made Alarr wonder who had informed Feann about his sister and why. Saorla had died years ago, and no one had known that she was a king’s daughter, save Sigurd. After all these years, why would anyone bother to send word across the sea to Éireann? His first thoughts went to his mother. He wouldn’t put it past Hilda to do such a thing. Or perhaps his aunt Kolga.

  ‘Saorla sailed to Maerr of her own free will,’ Rurik reminded him. ‘When she learned she was with child, she remained there.’

  ‘Likely she was ashamed,’ Feann answered. ‘She fought everyone for the right to abandon her responsibilities and run away with him. But I don’t understand why she didn’t come home after he set her aside.’

  ‘I heard them fighting, years ago,’ Rurik answered. ‘Sigurd would not let her go unless she left my brother and me behind. She refused.’ He turned sombre at the revelation, as if he blamed his father for imprisoning her.

  Feann’s expression tightened with unspoken emotion. ‘Our father was furious with her for leaving her responsibilities and our kingdom. But Sigurd was only using her, wasn’t he?’ While he spoke, he kept his eyes fixed upon Alarr. There was no doubt of the hidden meaning in his words.

  ‘Sigurd was already married,’ Rurik answered. ‘And while his actions lacked honour, he did give Saorla a home of her own, and he provided for Danr and me.’

  ‘My sister deserved better than to be treated like a whore,’ Feann shot back.

  ‘Then why did you not come earlier to see her for yourself?’ Rurik asked. ‘If you cared about her welfare so much, why did you never visit while she was alive?’

  ‘Because we argued the day she left. Saorla swore she would never speak to me again. I was angry with her for choosing a Lochlannach instead of obeying our father. I told her she was welcome to return, but I would never set foot in Maerr.’

  Breanne took a steadying breath before she turned to look at him. ‘I think it would be best if I spoke with my foster father alone now. Will you leave us for a moment?’

  Alarr touched her face, understanding that she wanted a private conversation with Feann. She was more likely to gain what she wanted if he allowed it. ‘So long as you are safe.’ He beckoned for Rurik to join him. Then he leaned down to kiss her, knowing it would irritate the king. She embraced him, and then he stepped back. ‘We will await you near the stables.’

  * * *

  Breanne waited until they were gone, and the soldiers followed. Her foster father paced across the dais without speaking, but she could read his frustration in every step. Her mood matched his own, but she waited for him to speak.

  ‘You cannot give yourself to a Lochlannach enemy.’ He faced her, his expression forged in anger. ‘He cannot be trusted any more than Sigurd could. He will use you and set you aside.’

  She took a breath and chose her words carefully. ‘I trust him.’ Her answer was a silent defiance, and she stood her ground.

  He looked as if he wanted to fly into a rage, but he gathered his control and regarded her. ‘What is it you want, Breanne?’

  ‘I want justice for what was done to Alarr and his family. You must pay the corp-dire for your vengeance. You killed his bride,’ she shot back. ‘An innocent woman died at the hands of your men, as well as his father.’

  A thin smile stretched across his face. ‘But I did not have the honour of killing Sigurd. When I reached the longhouse, he was already slain.’

  ‘You caused Alarr’s injuries,’ she continued. ‘It took him over a year before he could walk ag
ain.’

  ‘I could have taken his life,’ Feann answered. ‘Instead I allowed him to live. Which was a mistake, now that I look back on it.’ Her foster father steepled his hands. ‘Had I cut him down, you would not believe yourself bound to him.’

  Breanne fell silent, wondering what to say to him now. He would not listen to reason, and he was behaving like an overprotective father.

  But he had lied to her, letting her believe her mother was dead. Treasa was her only living blood relative, and he had kept that knowledge from her, all these years. She wanted to confront him over it, but something held her back. Right now, she didn’t trust him, and she decided it was better not to reveal that she had met with her mother.

  Feann stood, his face a mask of stiff rage. ‘Breanne, let him go. You can never wed a Lochlannach.’

  ‘Why not? Because then I cannot wed a man of your choosing?’ A look of guilt flashed in his eyes at her accusation, and she pressed again.

  ‘Or is it because your only claim to Clonagh is through me?’ she ventured. Perhaps Feann wanted to choose a weak man as her husband, one whom he could control. She was beginning to wonder if greed had played a role in his secrets. If so, he would not want a Lochlannach on the throne beside her.

  ‘Clonagh is under King Cerball’s rule,’ Feann said. ‘The lands became his by right of conquest, after your parents’ treason. I have only governed them on his behalf.’

  ‘Treason according to whom?’ she demanded. ‘It sounds as if King Cerball accused them of treason in order to gain possession of my father’s kingdom.’

  Feann sighed and sat down once again. ‘You’re wrong, Breanne. Cerball did not seize the land with the intend of keeping it. I was asked to protect Clonagh until you came of age. You were to marry a man loyal to Cerball. But now, your actions have changed that. What man will want to claim you now?’

  She was beginning to realise the far-reaching implications of staying with Alarr. Both Feann and Treasa wanted to use her for their own gains.