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

by Avery Maitland

  * * *

  She tried to distract herself from her anger, but it was almost impossible to do so. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her throat was tight. She could not decide whether she wanted to scream or vomit, but either one would have been preferable to the turmoil in her mind and in her belly.

  The streets of Skaro were crowded with people, and the air was thick with the excited noise of conversation and trading as she reached the market. She had no intention of changing her clothing, or meeting Jarl Sigurd, but even if she barricaded herself in her house, Hallvard would find a way to make her obey.

  The people looked lean and hungry; the breaking of the ice was a reprieve for them. Jarl Sigurd’s ships would be the first ones to enter their harbor, but they would not be the last. As soon as the trading ships began their routes, things would change, and some of the hard memories of winter could be eclipsed by good food and visitors from afar. They had sacrificed too much for her brothers’ return—and paid dearly for it.

  Hallvard might not have cared, but Torunn knew that the storehouses were almost empty. There would be enough to honor their guests—and Torunn hoped that they had brought some tribute of their own to add to the feasts. Hunters would have already been dispatched to seek out whatever game had begun to return to their territories.

  The snow would not melt for several months yet, but the echoing crack of the ice as it broke in the harbor was a relief that Torunn did not truly feel. She felt it for the people of the village, but with every sharp sound that rang in her ears, her stomach tightened all the more and a heaviness weighed on her shoulders that she could not shake away.

  The people deserved the happiness they felt, but the approach of Jarl Sigurd’s carried nothing for Torunn but doom.

  Chapter 6 ~ Bersi

  “Can you see anything?”

  The boy in front of him hopped up and down to try and see over the heads of the other boys who crowded the shoreline to catch a glimpse of the approaching boats.

  Bersi reached down and lifted the squirming boy high into the air.

  “How about now?” he asked.

  The boy twisted back to look down at him and then straightened and focused on the headlands that were the gateway to the harbor. Large chunks of ice floated in the dark gray water and Bersi suppressed a shiver. Spring may have been on the horizon, but the ocean always seemed to cling to winter with fierce determination.

  “Nothing,” the boy called out. “I cannot see—” The boy paused and his small hands tightened on Bersi’s wrists. “There!” he shouted. “There, I see it!”

  He focused on keeping his grip on the child as he kicked excitedly, and narrowly avoided the boy’s boot as he twisted. “Do you see?”

  Bersi’s eyes narrowed. The half-light of the early morning made it difficult to make out exactly what he was looking at, but the boy was right.

  Ships.

  The shouts of men that echoed off the shore.

  There was no denying it. He had hoped that the scouts had been mistaken. It was too soon for Jarl Sigurd to arrive. The old man must have been impatient to secure a truce with the new Jarl. Torunn’s brother was a volatile man, and anyone who doubted how dangerous such a thing was would soon see how wrong they were.

  Jarl Sigurd was no fool. That was clear enough.

  Bersi’s jaw clenched. He had hoped to free Skaro from the rule of men like Hallvard, but he had failed, and the village had suffered. He did not care about his own life, he should have died of his wound, or been sacrificed for his betrayal… But the gods seemed to have other plans for him. Whether or not they were of a kindly nature, or a dark one, he could not be certain. But, for now, he was alive… and that should have been enough.

  But it was not enough. He had tasted the sweetness of Torunn’s skin and felt the rhythm of her body beneath his—he could never allow her to be taken away. She could not be married to the old goat of a Jarl.

  He ignored the boy’s yowl of protest and set him down on the rocky beach. “Keep watch,” he said gruffly. “I have work to do.”

  The boys barely noticed his departure, and he walked as quickly as he could through the village to his mistress’ house. His thoughts were dangerous, he knew that. But he could not stop them, either.

  “Where have you been?” Heldi’s accusatory shout reached his ears before he saw her and he shook his head ruefully. That woman always knew when he was not working.

  Torunn’s servant stood outside the kitchens with her hands braced upon her ample hips. “Our mistress has been in the bath for far too long,” she grumbled as Bersi approached. “Bring more wood to keep the water hot.”

  Bersi nodded and turned to the pile of firewood he had stacked at the side of the house. “Jarl Sigurd is approaching,” he said.

  Heldi let out a frustrated breath. “Too eager,” she huffed. “She will not do it.”

  Bersi chuckled. Heldi had not softened toward him over the winter months, but she spoke more freely in front of him than she had before.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Heldi snapped. “And be quick with that wood. The Jarl will be calling for her soon enough.”

  He said nothing as he walked past her, shifted the firewood in his arms, and ducked his head as he stepped into the house.

  Torunn was headstrong and opinionated. Her brothers would have a difficult time controlling her. And Jarl Sigurd would fare no better.

  Sigurd.

  Bersi’s hand tightened on the wood as he strode through the house. The bathhouse door was ajar, and he could smell the fragrant steam from the hot water—just lightly. He had smelled it on her skin only a few hours before… He gritted his teeth and pushed open the door.

  She was submerged up to her chin in the steaming water, staring at the wall. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, held in place with a long silver pin.

  He ached to touch her, but that would never happen again. He had been a fool to think that she would look at him as anything more than her slave after what they had shared. But they had shared nothing. She had commanded him and he had obeyed.

  No.

  It had been more than that.

  It had to have meant more to her.

  But from the way she had left him, it was hard to believe such wild thoughts had any merit.

  “Where have you been?”

  Bersi knelt to place the wood down by the fire that burned low beside the massive wash tub. “Watching Jarl Sigurd’s boats come into the harbor.”

  Water splashed over the side of the tub and he jerked back to avoid being soaked. Torunn’s face peered down at him, her eyes wide with anger and surprise.

  “Well?”

  “Well?”

  “Did you see them?”

  Bersi suppressed the urge to smile and nodded briefly instead. “I did. A great longship leading the pack. The sail—”

  “I do not care,” Torunn snapped. Water sloshed again and a few droplets landed on his cheek. He wiped them away and shook his head. She cared a great deal, that was certain enough.

  “They will be landed on the beach soon enough,” he said.

  Torunn muttered something he could not hear.

  “Mistress, you must get dressed!” Heldi’s voice was bright and firm outside the door.

  “I am not ready,” Torunn shouted back.

  She might have been a grown woman and a fierce warrior, but Torunn Arndottir could be a stubborn child when she wanted to be and Bersi knew that she had no intention of moving from that tub.

  “More wood on the fire,” she snapped.

  “As you say.”

  “What were my brothers thinking?” she muttered as he laid another log on the fire. “What kind of alliance could they hope to pry from that old bull’s fingers?”

  Bersi opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again just as quickly.

  “Come here,” she said suddenly and Bersi stood up slowly. His leg ached, but not as badly as it had that morning. He had earned that ache and his cock throbb
ed as his eyes dragged over the back of Torunn’s neck and down her naked shoulders.

  “Yes, mistress?”

  She tapped her shoulder. “Here. My neck is stiff.”

  She had never asked him to massage her before—and he was not sure that he knew how. His hands knew how to hold an axe, to wield a sword, and to hold a woman. But this… This was strange. He had observed Heldi as she had been commanded to do the same. He would have to remember.

  He wiped his hands on his tunic and swallowed thickly. His hands were dirty, and he probably still smelled like the woolshed they had tumbled in, or worse. He was not fit to touch her, but he could not stop his hands from reaching for her.

  Bersi laid his hands on her shoulders, almost reverently, her skin was hot from the water and slick under his palms. She sighed heavily and her head fell forward as his fingers tightened.

  “Mistress—”

  Heldi called again and Torunn grumbled something unintelligible. Bersi tried to move his hands convincingly and changed the pressure of his fingertips against Torunn’s shoulders. She moaned softly and Bersi closed his eyes, thankful that she could not see him.

  “What happened this morning,” she said suddenly. “It meant nothing. Do you understand me?”

  Bersi’s eyes flew open. He had known that this was coming, but it still hurt to hear her say the words. “Yes, mistress.”

  “You are my property, and I may do with you as I wish, but I cannot— We cannot—”

  “I understand,” he replied.

  “It does not matter if you understand,” she snapped. “It is how it must be. Jarl Sigurd… It would not be permitted for the wife of a Jarl.”

  Bersi did not reply. He had expected that she would be fighting against this union, and he was surprised by her sudden resignation to the fate that had been decided for her. His hands lay heavily upon her shoulders, all pretense of a massage forgotten.

  “You cannot allow this to happen,” he blurted out. “The weapons— Your brothers are plotting something—”

  Torunn turned quickly to face him and hot water sloshed out of the washtub and soaked his breeches.

  “I know that they are plotting,” she snarled. “But what am I to do about it? I have no proof. I have nothing but the word of a disgraced warrior who the whole village knows despises my brothers… and you. I have nothing.”

  “And if you allow this wedding to go forward, your life will be in danger,” Bersi retorted. “Can you not see that the alliance between Bitra and Skaro is a lie? Jarl Sigurd will have the rightful ruler of Skaro under his roof—under his command. If your brothers do not do all that they promise, your life would be in danger. Do you not think that Jarl Sigurd would waste his time on a marriage such as this unless he meant to take his revenge—”

  Her fist hit his jaw before he saw her move and he gripped the edge of the tub to keep from falling back. Pain rocketed through his jaw and he shook his head as he tasted blood in his mouth. He spat into the steaming water and glared at Torunn.

  She was standing in the tub, the water only barely reaching her hips. Her breasts heaved as she gasped for breath, her eyes blazed with anger, and her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. The silver pin that had held it in place was in her hand, and the tip was pressed against the side of his throat.

  “You should not speak your mind so boldly,” she hissed.

  He did not look away. “I could not speak in any other manner.”

  Before she could move, he pushed her hand aside and grabbed her waist to haul her forward, pulling her off-balance. Torunn stumbled forward and fell against the edge of the washtub and his chest. His free hand gripped her wrist before she could strike him again and he held her tightly.

  Her face was inches from his, the scent of her skin heavy in his nostrils.

  “I cannot bear to watch you marry him,” he growled.

  She glared up at him, but her dark eyes burned with more than anger. “You are concerned about your own hide. What will happen to you when I am taken to Bitra? My new husband would never allow me to keep a male slave. Especially one such as you. As soon as he learned who you were…”

  Infuriating woman.

  He had not thought about what might happen to him if the marriage occurred. But he had not believed that she would allow such a thing to take place. But if it did—Jarl Sigurd would grant her any request, and what difference would it make if he went with her?

  Unless—

  He could deny his urges no longer, but when he kissed her, Torunn’s mouth was hard and unyielding. She strained against him, but only for a moment, and then her lips opened under his.

  The silver pin fell from her hand, but he only dimly heard it clatter musically against the edge of the washtub.

  He held her tight and his fingers dug into her naked flesh as he pulled her against him. Her other hand came up to tangle in his hair and he growled against her mouth as his cock throbbed. If the washtub had not been between them—

  Torunn’s hand tightened into a fist around his hair and she dragged his head back, breaking the kiss. Bersi’s breath hissed between his teeth at the sudden shock of pain and he looked into Torunn’s eyes as she held him fast.

  “I am the mistress here,” she snarled. “I make the decisions. Not you.”

  He had overstepped his bounds, but he had known it was a risk—kissing her was worth whatever punishment might follow. She had given in to her lust for him once, and he had hoped that she would do it again.

  “I—”

  “Release me,” she said softly. Her voice was dangerous, but there was a different edge to it that he could not identify. Perhaps there was something more—

  He did as he was commanded and he released his grip on her wrist. The fingers of his other hand trailed down her spine and her eyes closed for the briefest moment before she pushed him away.

  “Mistress?” The door opened and Heldi strode into the room. She had fresh garments draped over her arm, but the woman’s eyes were sharp as she beheld Torunn standing, naked and panting in the washtub, and he, pressed against the wall of the room. There was no mistaking that something had happened between them, and Bersi’s throat tightened as Heldi’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “I have brought you the breeches and tunic that you requested,” she said briskly. “Though the Jarl did send word that—”

  “I do not care what my brother has to say,” Torunn snapped. “Leave them and be gone, and send someone to dress my hair.”

  “Of course.”

  Heldi set the clothing upon a small table and set Torunn’s boots on the floor before she fixed Bersi with a cold glare that he bent his head to avoid. The woman would have hard words for him when she saw him next, of that he had no doubt.

  He took too many risks, he knew that already. But rebels made terrible slaves.

  As Heldi left the room, Bersi fumbled for something to say, but he could feel Torunn’s gaze upon him, and knew that if he said anything he would be met with a sharp rebuke, and he did not want to make her angrier.

  He held out the linen she always wrapped around herself when she finished bathing and she snatched it from his hand as she stepped out of the wash tub. He busied himself at the fire and stole a glance at her as she stood on the furs that were laid out upon the floor.

  The linen was wrapped around her shoulders and the edge of it just grazed the top of her thigh. He had seen her naked countless times, but each time made him as breathless as the first, for she never looked the same, not to him. The soft light that filtered down from the opening in the roof lit her skin gently and the edge of the tattoo that had been etched into the side of her thigh and twisted up onto her back was only barely visible beneath the wet linen.

  Her head was bent, her hair falling over her shoulders and down her back as she stood motionless, deep in thought as a frown marred her features for the briefest of moments before she raised her head. She shifted the linen down over her shoulders and secured it tightly across her
breasts.

  The moment had passed and she was determined once more.

  He burned to ask her what she had been thinking, but it was not the time.

  “You will accompany me to the great hall,” she said briskly. “If you are to have a care for my safety, then you must be with me at all times.”

  “Yes, mistress,” he replied.

  This was not a new command, but he had not expected such a thing. Especially after—

  “But you will stay behind me, and say nothing.”

  He stood up from the fire as she rubbed the linen over her skin and then draped it over the edge of the washtub. He should have looked away, but he watched her as she pulled the breeches up over her long, muscular legs and tied it at her waist. He loved the way her body moved; coiled and powerful. She was every inch a warrior.

  She swept her hair over her shoulder and shook out the tunic.

  “My father told me that he would never force me to marry a man I did not love,” she said suddenly. “I believed him.”

  Bersi had not seen her mourn for her father’s death and she had certainly shed no tears in his presence. He did not know what to say, or if he should say anything at all.

  Torunn pulled the tunic over her head and then turned and sat down in a wooden chair that had been placed alongside the washtub. Bersi stepped forward and knelt at her feet to help her with her boots.

  “You are right,” she said with a small sigh as he tied the laces on her soft leather boots.

  “About what?” His hands held her foot gently, unwilling to set it back on the floor and lose that contact with her.

  “About Jarl Sigurd. About my brothers… I know what this wedding means.”

  He looked up and met her gaze boldly. “And what will you do about it?”

  She shook her head and pulled her foot out of his grasp. “I do not know.”