Sword of Vengeance: A Medieval Viking Historical Romance (Warrior's Claim Book 2)

by Avery Maitland

  “If you are wrong, I will see you whipped in the square,” she said darkly.

  She was surprised to hear Bersi chuckle at her threat.

  “If I am wrong, then the gods have cursed me in more ways than one,” he said.

  * * *

  Torunn followed Bersi through the house and out into the street. The first light of dawn had only just begun to lighten the tops of the trees and Torunn could hear the crackle of the ice echoing in the harbor. The people would be in a celebratory mood today, that much was certain. Skaro’s hopes lay on the ice in that harbor. The sooner it melted and broke away, the sooner they would be able to breathe again. The winter had been long, and harder than anyone had anticipated. Her father would have been proud of how the village had survived. But if he had lived, they would not be in such dire conditions.

  Her stomach twisted with hatred for her brothers as she hurried to keep up with Bersi’s long strides. She had forgotten how quickly he moved despite his injury. Though he hadn’t complained, she knew that it had pained him during the winter months, and she had felt a small stab of guilt for her role in causing his distress—but he was alive when he should have been executed. A limp was a small price to pay for his betrayal.

  The road began to rise as they approached the center of the village. She could hear people moving in their houses as morning approached. Early risers, people getting ready for market. The sharp cry of a baby pierced the air.

  “Wait,” she hissed. Bersi stopped short and she narrowly avoided colliding with his broad back.

  “What?”

  “What if we’re seen?”

  Bersi’s smile was so brief that she barely noticed it. “You’re the sister of the Jarl, who will stop you?”

  Torunn pointed at the hall. “My brothers?”

  Her father’s mead hall was lit with torches, but it was strangely silent. The drinking and shouting that took place in that hall usually continued well into the night, and there was a good chance that some of them would still be awake…

  “We will go quickly and quietly,” he said. “They sleep heavily.”

  Torunn did not like the sound of that. It was too risky. But she had to know. The cracking of the harbor ice had fuelled a new panic in her chest. She did not want to marry Jarl Sigurd, but she did not want to see him slaughtered, either.

  “Fine. But at the first sign that we might be discovered, we will run.”

  Bersi nodded. Without waiting for her command, he moved away from her with determined steps. She bit back the angry words that sprang to her lips, she could not let fear take hold of her.

  What if they were caught? Questioned?

  Her mind swirled with reasons why she might be in the great hall at such an hour—and so sober. The sister of the Jarl would not need to provide an explanation as to why she was anywhere. But Bersi might draw more attention than she wanted. It was one thing to send a slave on an errand, but to accompany him while he did it? Entirely another.

  Why would she go to the great hall before the sun rose?

  She frowned at the delicate light of dawn that brushed the tops of the trees that surrounded Skaro. Why would she be here?

  Torunn focused on her feet, and Bersi’s shoulders as he moved through the village streets. She had been lucky to have wounded him the way she did. He could have killed her at any moment, he still could. But she had been faster, and Freya had guided her sword.

  She had wasted too much time trying to decide what to do with him, and now he belonged to her...

  The great hall loomed before them and Torunn’s breath caught in her throat. She was not ready to do this. She was not— but it was too late now, and Bersi had already stepped through the door and into the hall.

  He paused only briefly before beckoning to her.

  Too briefly.

  “You take too many chances,” she muttered.

  He pointed toward one of the banners that carried her brother’s ridiculous crest and threatening colors. She hated it. Hated everything it represented. Hated how different it was from her father’s standard. Everything Hallvard did was in opposition to how their father had lived his life and cared for his people.

  She spat into the straw and tried to get control of her breathing.

  “See for yourself,” Bersi said softly.

  The great hall was scattered with warriors. But their number was far fewer than usually decorated the hall after a night of drinking and feasting. They slumped over tables, clutching their cups and cradling their heads on their arms, or sprawled over the hay-strewn floor beside puddles of vomit and sleeping dogs.

  Torunn froze as one of the dogs lifted its head to look at her, and then flopped back down beside its master.

  Her brothers were nowhere to be seen, but that did not surprise her in the slightest. As much as Hallvard proclaimed his love and loyalty to these men, he cared for no one but himself. She wondered fleetingly if Asgaut knew how little his own brother cared for him. Or if it mattered.

  She stepped into the hall with careful hesitation. The banner was close enough, and she could already see that it bulged with irregular shapes when it should have laid flat against the wooden wall.

  Her palms slid over the rough wood as she pressed against the wall. Quickly. Quietly. Bersi waited at the door, his eyes scanning the drunken warriors and sleeping dogs. His expression was worried, and Torunn tried to focus on her task.

  She was so close to the banner, and she reached out to take hold of it when her boot nudged against something hard that scraped over the wooden floor beneath the straw.

  Bersi’s gaze snapped to her and Torunn froze in place.

  Nothing and no one moved. A dog whined in its sleep and Torunn crouched slowly to see what it was.

  “No time,” Bersi hissed.

  But Torunn did not listen to him. She could not listen. There was a sword hidden beneath the straw. The hilt had scraped against the wooden floor when she had nudged it. She reached out to it as her throat tightened. Her fingers wrapped around the leather scabbard and she drew it from the straw. It was a simple blade. Older. A short sword that had been taken during a raid. It was not one of theirs, the decoration on the hilt was too coarse and the scabbard was poorly made and coming apart at one seam.

  She drew it part-way to look at the blade. If it was old and dull, she could dismiss all of this foolishness as a plot to undermine her trust in her brothers. Bersi would be punish—

  But it was not old and dull. The blade shone in the torchlight, honed to a perfect deadly sharpness.

  “Torunn!”

  Bersi’s agitated whisper stunned her out of her trance. He pointed to one of the tables and Torunn felt sick as she watched one of the sleeping men begin to wake.

  She shoved the blade back into the scabbard. She almost pushed it back under the straw but thought better of it and tightened her grip on it. It was evidence. But evidence of what?

  There was more movement as another warrior roused himself from his stupor. The dog at his feet yawned and stretched and Torunn straightened slowly and pressed herself against the wall. She slid back toward the doorway with measured steps, and kept her eyes on the man as he grunted, pushed himself up from the table and staggered a few steps forward.

  “Hurry,” Bersi hissed.

  Torunn wasted no more time, but she kept her eye on the men—and the dog.

  If either one of them saw her, they would be taken to Hallvard… and even if they weren’t, her brother would be told of what had happened. Why had she demanded to see this for herself? Why?

  With blind fear pushing her onward, Torunn lurched toward the banner. It was so close, and she had to know for sure.

  “No!” Bersi’s protest was quiet, but it echoed in Torunn’s ears as though he had shouted it. She gritted her teeth as her fingers closed over the dyed wool. She wrenched it back, hoping that there would be nothing behind it. But her stomach churned as the torchlight gleamed off of the points of spears and a studded shield that h
ad been secreted behind the banner.

  There was more movement behind her, and Torunn released her hold on the banner and ran blindly for the doorway. Her boot slammed against the elbow of a sleeping man, and she heard him grunt as she stumbled. Her balance faltered, and her eyes widened as she tried not to cry out, but Bersi’s large hand closed over her arm and dragged her upright.

  A dog barked. Short and sharp, and panic was bitter on her tongue as more men began to wake. Someone let out a groggy shout, but Torunn could not look back to see who it had been. If they had not seen her face, they could not tell her brother that she had been in the hall…

  With the sword crushed against her chest, Torunn pushed against Bersi’s bulk, and he moved quickly. Without looking back, they ran through the door and down the path. Shouts followed them, and barking dogs. If they were chased— that might have been worse than being caught…

  Chapter 4 ~ Bersi

  Why did she have to be so stubborn? Why did she have to look. The sword should have been enough. And now they were steps away from being caught. She would not be punished—but he would be.

  The sound of barking hounds filled the morning air and Bersi tried to think about anything but how much his leg hurt. He had not run on it since his injury, and his muscles and tendons screamed with pain. But Torunn’s pace hadn’t slowed, and he had to keep up with her.

  “This way.” Torunn grabbed Bersi’s tunic and hauled him to the left as they ran through the streets. He stumbled as his balance shifted and Torunn’s grip was tight. “In here!”

  She pushed at a door and darted inside, and Bersi lurched after her. A wool shed. Dark and windowless. Dried herbs hung from the rafters and brushed at Bersi’s face. He pushed them out of the way with irritation and tried to find a place to stand that was not crowded with sacks of wool or cluttered with shearing implements.

  She closed the rough wooden door and leaned against it. Her chest heaved and she clutched the sword she had found in the straw tightly.

  “Why did you take it?” Bersi gasped. His lungs burned, his leg ached, and he was angry that she had put them in danger, but angrier at himself for allowing her to go into the hall alone. But she had to see for herself… now she would understand.

  Torunn leaned her head back against the door and then her eyes widened as the barking dogs grew louder. “Be quiet,” she hissed.

  “Why could you not just believe me when I told you what I had seen,” Bersi continued. He wanted to hear her say that she didn’t trust him. How could she trust him?

  Torunn pushed away from the door and dropped the sword onto the packed dirt floor. She strode toward him and slammed her hands against his shoulders. He staggered back and fell onto a sack of wool.

  “Shut your mouth,” she said. “Or do you want to be found? Do you know what they’ll do to you if they catch you here with me?”

  Bersi growled and tried to push himself upright, but the sack of wool was soft and yielding, and he only slid father back into the pile.

  “What am I to do?” He challenged. “I am a slave, I do whatever my mistress commands.” He did not trouble himself to keep the bitterness out of his voice. She had put them both in danger, but the consequences would have been dire for him if they had been caught. And there was still a chance that might happen.

  He struggled to free himself from the pile of wool, but it was no use. More sacks slipped down and fell softly around him.

  Without warning, Torunn flung herself into the pile of wool beside him and clamped her hand down on his mouth. “I said, be quiet!”

  He glared at her, but she was not looking at him, she was looking at the door. “The sword,” she whispered.

  The sound of barking grew louder and she used his chest as a brace to push herself to her feet. She ran to where she had dropped the sword and snatched it off the floor. Her movements were panicked and sharp as she ran back to him and shoved the sword under the bales of wool.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hiding,” she hissed. “Now, will you please stop talking?”

  Bersi struggled again to sit up, but the bales slid under his weight and he grunted in frustration. Torunn reached up to help the bales continue to topple, and then dove on top of Bersi as they fell.

  “What—”

  Torunn’s hand pressed against his mouth again, cutting off his protests as the bales tumbled over them.

  She lay on top of him, her hand over his mouth, and his heartbeat pounded a furious rhythm in his ears as he glared up at her. Torunn’s eyes were closed, and he could feel the thud of her heart through her chest. She was afraid. But why? What did she have to be afraid of?

  The door of the woolshed creaked open, and Torunn froze. Her hand relaxed on his mouth as she turned her head to stare in the direction of the door.

  The barking of the dogs was louder now, deafening, and Bersi shut his eyes tightly. If they were dragged from the pile of wool, it would be the end of him. The sword. The Jarl’s sister… He would be on his way to Valhalla far sooner than he intended—and he did not know if his life had been wasted in the search for revenge and rebellion… Would the All Father tell him so and deny him entrance to the great halls of heroes?

  If he was to die, then he must be worthy of it.

  Without a second thought Bersi reached up and wrapped his arms around the woman on top of him. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. His kiss was hard and desperate. The kiss of a dying man seeking Valhalla.

  Footsteps on the packed dirt floor. The snarl of a hunting dog. Voices.

  “Get the cursed dogs away from the wool!” a man shouted. “Sigga will have your head if it’s damaged before market!”

  Above him, Torunn hadn’t moved, but she had not pulled away, either. Bersi lifted his hips to press his hardening cock against her thigh and Torunn’s mouth, softened just a little, against his. She wanted him. He knew that much. But did she want him badly enough to risk everything?

  Her mouth opened against his and he suppressed a groan that would have given them away as her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer.

  The men at the door argued with each other and cursed as they tried to bring the dogs under control, but Bersi was not listening to them.

  The wooden door slammed shut and Bersi groaned softly as Torunn pulled away from his kiss and looked at the door. Some of her hair had come away from her braid, and it was wild around her face. He wanted to smooth it back, but if he released his grip on her, she would slip away and he would never have this chance again.

  “We should stay here for a little while longer,” she said breathlessly. “They may come back.”

  “What will we do?”

  She looked down at him, and her dark gaze burned into him. “Whatever your mistress commands,” she said simply. She lowered her face to his and kissed him, hard and heated. Her tongue swept between his lips and he opened his mouth under hers.

  Torunn’s hips moved and as she rubbed against his hardened cock he groaned against her mouth. His hands moved over her back and down to the firm curve of her buttocks and he pulled her tight against him, pressing his hips up to show her how willing he was to follow her every demand.

  They were buried under bales of wool, but Bersi could think of nothing but her and the feel of her body under his hands. His want for her had grown in the months since she had taken him prisoner and then made him a slave. She had teased him and tormented him with her body, and now he had the opportunity to possess her.

  Torunn’s hands dragged down his body and she tugged at the lacing of his breeches with fevered fingers. Bersi released his hold on her hips to help her and pushed his breeches down before reaching for the ties that held hers, but she was faster, and pulled her mouth away from his as she struggled out of them.

  This would have been awkward even if they were laid upon a soft bed instead of buried under bales of wool, and Bersi was not about to wait while such things were negotiated. He might have been a slave, but at
that moment, she was a woman—and she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  With a grunt, he took hold of her waist and rolled her beneath him, bending her over the soft bale of wool that had first broken his fall. She gasped softly, but did not argue with him as he pressed her forward and swatted the bales that had covered them out of the way. His knees were solid on the packed dirt floor, and Torunn was bent over in front of him, breathless and wanting.

  He smoothed a hand over the exposed flesh and relished the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers.

  “Please,” she begged him.

  Bersi could have waited a lifetime to hear that word. He slid his hand lower and squeezed the back of her thigh. He could see that she was wet and ready for him, her arousal glistened on her thighs and he could only imagine how good it would feel to bury his cock in that sweetness. He slid a finger deftly against the soft pink flesh of her entrance and closed his eyes as she moaned.

  “Bersi,” she said breathlessly. “Fuck your mistress—”

  He needed no other urging, and without pause, he pushed his hips forward and pressed the head of his cock against her slick heat. Torunn gave him no time to savor her as she pushed herself back to meet him.

  His cock slid deep inside her, and they groaned in unison when he was buried to the hilt in her searing heat.

  As much as he wanted to wait, as much as he wanted to give Torunn every ounce of pleasure he could, there was no way for him to deny the way the blood pounded in his veins when he touched her.

  She looked over her shoulder at him as he dragged a hand down her spine and then she reached back to grip his tunic. “Bersi—”

  Bersi’s hands tightened on her hips and she closed her eyes as he began to move his hips. Slowly at first, each stroke plunged deep inside her until Torunn was panting for breath. She pulled him forward and arched her back, daring him to give her more.

  “Quickly,” she breathed. “Please…”

  They could be discovered at any moment. The farmer could return to check on his wool and make sure that nothing had been disturbed. The Jarl’s warriors could come back… the dogs.