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

by Avery Maitland

  Bersi stood behind Torunn as they waited for Jarl Sigurd’s boat to reach the shore. The whole of Skaro had gathered to greet their guests and Bersi watched with muted anger as Hallvard and Asgaut drank and congratulated themselves on the masterful alliance that would be made.

  Torunn was silent as she stood watching the boats. Jarl Sigurd had brought four longships with him. A considerable force of warriors for a mission of peace and alliance. Bersi did not trust it. But he did not trust many things.

  The boys who had watched the boats come into the harbor were still on the shoreline. They hopped between the boats and scrambled across the rocks to talk to the warriors.

  Sigurd’s men were hard and broad, with weapons at their hips and stern faces.

  “Where is the Jarl,” Hallvard said impatiently. “We have waited long enough.”

  He pushed at Asgaut. “Take some men and escort our guest off the damned beach.”

  Asgaut laughed and then shouted for his men. He was already drunk, and his footsteps were boldly unsteady as the group made their way down to the beach.

  Hallvard held out his cup to be refilled, and the pale-haired woman who followed him everywhere snatched a jug from the hands of another servant to fill it. “If I cannot trust my own brother to greet our guest properly— I should not have to do everything myself.”

  “A Jarl should not have to bend to such things,” she said quietly.

  Torunn’s head snapped in their direction at the woman’s words, but then she looked back at the beach. He could see the tension in her stance, and wished that he was able to carry some kind of weapon. His hands tightened into fists as he heard shouts of greeting from the beach.

  Asgaut’s party had just reached the boats, and a broad-shouldered man with a wild mane of steely gray hair jumped down from the lead boat to grasp Asgaut’s arm. Jarl Sigurd. An old goat of a man if he’d ever seen one.

  They spoke for a moment, and then Asgaut gestured toward the great hall and the Jarl nodded.

  “Finally,” Hallvard grunted. He looked over at Torunn and his expression darkened. “Our father’s oldest enemy is about to become our ally. This is a great day, Torunn, you should look happier.”

  “Should I?” she replied mildly. She did not look at him, a small act of rebellion. She had already defied his orders by wearing a tunic and breeches instead of the dress Hallvard had sent for her. Against Bersi’s advice, she had even gone as far as to wear weapons, but those had been taken from her as soon as Hallvard had seen her.

  Unarmed except the knife she had strapped to her shin and concealed under the leather of her boot, Torunn had seethed with anger for the duration of their wait, and he did not anticipate that she would regain any sense of calm for the remainder of the day.

  Behind them, Bersi could hear the noise of the preparations to make the hall ready for the great feast that would take place later that night. Chairs had been set upon a hastily constructed dais in front of the hall to entertain their guests until nightfall. Joel Sigurd had brought more men than anyone had expected, and hunters had been dispatched with a panicked haste into the forest to forage for more game to keep them all fed.

  Torunn’s anger had many facets, and Bersi did not begrudge her any of them.

  If she had still been acting in the Jarl’s place, such a thing would never have happened, and the village storehouses would not have been empty.

  But Bersi also had not forgotten that if Torunn had still been standing in her father’s stead, it was likely that he would already be dead. She had been ready to end his life when her brothers’ boats had appeared in the harbor, and he would never stop thanking the gods who watched over him for their intervention.

  “The Jarl is moving slow today,” Hallvard remarked as he watched his brother lead Skaro’s newest ally up the path that led from the beach and into the village. “An old man to dote upon you,” he chuckled. “Perhaps he will not make too many demands upon you.”

  Torunn’s shoulders straightened and Bersi gritted his teeth.

  “You must learn to smile, sister,” Hallvard said as Asgaut and Jarl Sigurd turned the corner. Asgaut was talking animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. Jarl Sigurd, however, seemed not to be listening to anything his host was saying. The old man’s eyes were turned toward the dais, and his gaze was fixed on Torunn.

  “Sigurd,” Hallvard called out. He drained his cup and set it on the arm of their father’s great seat before he rose and held out his arms to his guest. “It is a blessing from the gods to have you upon our shores so soon after the breaking of the ice!”

  “Rán and Ægir were kind to us on our journey,” Sigurd said as they approached. “I did not expect the ice to break so soon, but as soon as I heard it, I knew we had to take to our boats.”

  Hallvard jumped down the stairs and embraced the old Jarl with vigor and Bersi suppressed a chuckle at the surprise on the old man’s face.

  “You are most welcome to Skaro,” Hallvard cried. “Mead for the Jarl, and for his men!”

  A roar of approval from the warriors Sigurd had brought with him rang through the village and Bersi wondered what was going through Torunn’s mind at that moment. There should have been enough mead to see them through—barrels of it had been brought from Laxa, but Bersi doubted that the smaller village had been given a fair price… or had been paid at all.

  Hallvard escorted his guest to the dais and Bersi flinched as the Jarl’s pale-haired woman took Torunn by the elbow to lead her forward. Torunn pulled her arm from the woman’s grip and fixed her with a hot glare. The woman did not flinch, but she released her hold and stepped back with a strange smile upon her face.

  “Jarl Sigurd, allow me to present my sister—Torunn. As we discussed many months ago, she will be your bride. To secure the alliance between our people.”

  The old Jarl’s eyes swept over Torunn and Bersi hated the look of the smile that crept across his face.

  “You remind me of my first wife!” Jarl Sigurd’s laughter echoed over the village. “A handsome woman, to be sure. You have your father’s angry eyes.”

  He turned to Hallvard. “My first wife tried to kill me on our wedding night. She nearly succeeded, too.”

  Hallvard laughed. “A worthy woman for any warrior.”

  The Jarl laughed again and held his belly as he did so. Torunn’s eyes narrowed and Bersi wondered if she had considered the same course of action as the Jarl’s first wife. But if she had decided to dare such a thing, she would not fail in her task; of that he had no doubt.

  Hallvard pressed a horn of mead into the Jarl’s hand and took up his own cup. He opened his mouth to make a toast, but as soon as a cup was placed into Torunn’s hand, she brought it to her lips and drank before her brother could speak.

  Jarl Sigurd’s laugh was loud and rough and Bersi decided that he disliked the older man intensely. “She is eager to move forward with our alliance,” Jarl Sigured said in a booming voice. He held up his cup of mead as his warriors shouted their approval.

  Torunn swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and held out her cup to be refilled. Bersi had hoped she would not drink too much that night, but it seemed that she was determined to do exactly that.

  “It has been difficult since the death of our father,” Hallvard said gruffly. He gestured to a chair set across from him and Jarl Sigurd fell into it with a relieved grunt and drank deeply from his cup.

  “I can only imagine,” he said as he held out his cup to be refilled. “The shame of his passing would be a heavy burden to bear.” The lecherous grin on the Jarl’s face as he watched the girl who came forward with the jug of mead filled Bersi with anger. He was a disgusting example of a man, this Jarl, and he could not bear the thought of him touching Torunn.

  Hallvard chuckled.

  “Stories, my friend,” he said dismissively.

  Jarl Sigurd snorted into his cup and drank once more. “Stories? I do not know what you mean.”

  “Jealous men spi
n tales about those who are greater than themselves… a last attempt to appear larger in the eyes of strangers who do not know them well. But, alas, the gods always know the truth. The All Father sees to the depth of men’s souls, does he not?”

  Jarl Sigurd sighed heavily and then smiled. “He does, indeed. It is my purpose to make the father of the gods chuckle at my deeds when he welcomes me to Valhalla.”

  Hallvard raised his cup. “A task worthy of any man!” he cried.

  The warriors gathered around them roared their approval before they drank the mead that had been provided by the people of Skaro.

  At this rate, he thought, there would be nothing left for the wedding feast…

  “And what might a woman do to gain such an honor,” Torunn said loudly. “I could guess that Freya herself would be proud of my deeds.”

  “Proud is one thing, sister,” Hallvard said. “And Freya does not control the gates of Valhalla.”

  Jarl Sigurd belched and shifted in his seat. “But even Freya would keep your father outside those gates,” he announced. He gestured for more mead and the girl rushed forward to do his unspoken bidding.

  Some of the Sigurd’s warrior’s laughed at his words, and Bersi saw Torunn’s jaw tighten.

  “Why do you say that?” Torunn’s voice had a sharp edge to it, and Bersi could see the old Jarl sit up a little straighter as he detected it, too. He was far too interested in taming her—it would end badly for him.

  “Your father was a traitor,” he said simply. “To our gods, to his allies. Even to his own family… Surely, you cannot disagree.”

  “You must pardon our sister,” Asgaut said quickly. “She has not been herself since our father’s funeral.”

  “Of course,” Jarl Sigurd said in a tone that was, no doubt, meant to be kindly. But Bersi could see the stiffness in Torunn’s limbs. She was not taking this meeting well. Not at all.

  “I disagree,” Torunn snarled. “Such a thing is impossible. The sacrifices were made. The ship burned in the harbor… He begged for the blessing of Odin in his last moments, is that not so, Hallvard?”

  She turned to her brother and Bersi cringed as the leader of Skaro bowed his head slightly. “He did.”

  A lie.

  Hallvard was not a very convincing liar. Especially when the truth was so plainly evident… and known by so many. Unless Hallvard had ensured that the only story to survive would be the one that he had created.

  Bersi wished that he could drink. It might distract him from his anger.

  As much as he had wanted things to change for the people of Laxa and Skaro—he had not wanted it at the cost of the Jarl’s life. He had only wanted to reason with him. Speak to him. That would be impossible now. Hallvard would not listen to reason of any kind.

  But Torunn might.

  If she had been able to retain her hold on leadership, things would be different. Maybe if her father had lived—

  If he had not been murdered.

  “Well, let us hope that it was enough to convince the All Father of his sincerity,” Jarl Sigurd laughed. He drained his cup and waved it at the girl with the jug as his men roared their approval.

  Bersi watched Torunn’s fingers tighten on the arm of her chair and he wished that he could pull her away before she said something she would regret, or something that would start a fight that could not be won.

  He scanned the crowd desperately, looking for Varin’s angry face, but the older warrior was not among Jarl Hallvard’s men. In fact, none of the warriors who had remained loyal to Jarl Arnd were present. Only the younger men, warriors who caroused and drank with Hallvard every night in the great hall, were in the crowd. They laughed along with Jarl Sigurd’s men and raised their cups of mead to toast the new alliance.

  Cold fingers crept up Bersi’s spine as he looked at the men around him. Jarl Sigurd drank steadily but did not seem to be affected by the mead as Hallvard and Asgaut. They laughed and joked, but Jarl Sigurd’s pale eyes were hard and calculating.

  “My father was a great man,” Torunn said stiffly. “You should be grateful for this alliance.”

  “Oh, but I am,” Jarl Sigurd declared. “What Jarl would not be honored to align himself with a family that has been forgotten by the gods?”

  All laughter was gone now and Bersi could see Torunn’s knuckles whiten as she gripped her empty cup.

  “Perhaps it is you who should be grateful,” he continued. “I was not the first leader your brothers approached for an alliance, but I was the only one who agreed to the price of it.”

  His smile was a leer now, and Bersi’s spine stiffened. Torunn’s chin lifted, but she did not reply. He could only imagine the venom in her gaze as she glanced at her brothers, but they would not meet her eyes. Hallvard ignored her completely and shouted for meat and bread to be brought.

  “Our guests must be hungry after their long journey,” he cried. “We shall feast and celebrate this alliance in proper style!”

  He stood up from his chair and gestured toward the great hall which blazed with torches. Anything more that might have been said was drowned out by the cheers of the warriors gathered around them, and while Bersi was grateful for the small breath of distraction from the tension, he knew that Torunn would be seething with anger.

  Asgaut stood on unsteady legs and leaned on one of his guards for support, laughing as he did so. Hallvard seemed to be of a more sober mind than his twin brother, but that did not inspire much confidence. Jarl Sigurd was clear-eyed and agile as he drained his cup and tossed it at the girl who carried the mead jug.

  She caught it awkwardly and mead sloshed over the edge of the jug she carried. The old man laughed to see her fumble and Bersi disliked him even more.

  Torunn stood up slowly and watched as the men passed her by. She should have had a place of honor in their procession, but her brothers barely acknowledged her as they walked toward the hall.

  Bersi saw her hands tighten into fists and before he could stop himself he reached out and grabbed her elbow.

  “Wait,” he said softly.

  Torunn whirled on him and pulled her arm from his grasp with a sharp motion.

  “How dare you,” she hissed.

  “Please. Do not go with them. Say that you are unwell.”

  Her eyes blazed with fury. ”It is an insult to my father’s memory to have that dog in our village. His ships should be burned on the beach for the way he spoke.”

  She was right to be angry, but Bersi could not shake the feeling that only danger awaited her in that hall.

  “I will explain your absence,” he said and pushed her toward the edge of the dais. The warriors who had accompanied Jarl Sigurd mingled with the men of Skaro and their conversations and shouts of laughter were loud and oppressive. The smell of cooking meat and spilled mead was thick in the air, and no one seemed to have noticed that she had not continued on to the hall.

  “I will not let his insults go unchallenged,” she whispered hotly.

  He grasped her wrist gently and then released her. Though she did not need it, his gesture was one of support more than a means to restrain or control her and she looked up at him in surprise. “You will have your chance,” he said. “But now is not the time…”

  She frowned briefly as though considering her options.

  “Can you sit there and listen to more of that talk?” he asked. He had already overstepped every boundary dictated by his position, and there was no turning back now.

  “No,” she said firmly. Iri had not yet joined the Jarl and his guests in the hall and Torunn grabbed him by the arm. “Tell my brother that I am unwell,” she said loudly enough for others to hear. “I shall make my apologies to Jarl Sigurd in the morning.”

  Iri’s eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth to ask her why, but something in Torunn’s gaze made him pause. He glanced at Bersi, but his expression was unreadable. Bersi was still not certain whether or not he could trust the Jarl’s advisor. He disliked the way he looked at T
orunn, but she did not seem to notice.

  Torunn strode across the dais and descended the stairs with her chin held high. Bersi wanted nothing more than to follow her, but he had to find Varin.

  Her anger could wait.

  Chapter 7 ~ Torunn

  Bersi had been right to make her leave, she knew that. But that did not stop Torunn’s anger. It surged in her chest, stronger and stronger with every step she took away from the great hall.

  She should have been there with her brothers. She should have been able to offer a challenge to Jarl Sigurd’s insults. But what good would it have done? At best they would have laughed at her. Or, she could have started a fight that would have destroyed everything Hallvard had been trying to negotiate between Skaro and Bitra.

  He would blame her if anything went awry.

  Her cheeks were hot and her fingernails dug into her palms. She could not have sat among those men and kept her mouth shut. Not while Jarl Sigurd insulted their father with every breath he took. He would deserve whatever happened.

  “Torunn!”

  She had expected Bersi to follow her and did not slow her pace. Despite his limp he could catch up to her easily enough if he wanted to. He had dared to speak to her in public and had touched her in a manner that was not permitted by a slave, and she had not punished him. She could order him to be whipped for his bold actions, and the thought of seeing him stripped to the waist in the courtyard thrilled her just a little.

  “Wait!”

  Her sudden vision of Bersi on his knees in the dirt awaiting the lash of her whip vanished in an instant. That was not Bersi’s voice, it was Iri.

  The gate in front of her house stood open and she walked through it without hesitation. Hallvard had sent him to bring her back to the feast. Iri had always done what Hallvard told him to do. Even as her brother’s advisor he was a coward.

  “I am not going back in there,” she snapped as she pushed open the door that led into her house. The fire was burning in the hearth and she allowed herself to smile as she stepped over the threshold and into the large room. The house was pleasant and smelled of baking bread and fresh herbs, and she loved it.