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

by Avery Maitland

  He said nothing to her, but Torunn could feel the urgency in his pace and she hurried to keep up with him.

  Her house was dark save for the light of the fire that burned in the main room. Heldi had gone to her own bed hours ago, and Torunn had not planned to come back from the feast so soon.

  Torunn stumbled toward the fire and fell on her knees beside it. “What happened?” Bersi growled.

  She shook her head and reached up to pull Jarl Sigurd’s necklace from around her throat. The finely worked silver glittered in her hands and she frowned at it briefly before tossing it onto the edge of the hearth.

  “A fight,” she said softly.

  “A fight?”

  “Tyr… one of my father’s men. He. He brought a knife to the hall. He killed one of Jarl Sigurd’s men.”

  Bersi was silent for a moment and she tried to focus on his footsteps as he paced the floor.

  “How did your brother react?”

  “My brother?” She thought hard for a moment. “Hallvard seemed surprised—but he was not angry or afraid. Asgaut was afraid…”

  “Was it planned?”

  She shook her head. “I do not know. I do not think so. There were no other weapons—only the knife.”

  “Tyr will be punished for this. Jarl Sigurd will demand it.”

  “He was loyal to my father.” Torunn looked up at him, but Bersi stood near the door with his arms folded over his wide chest. “What can we do now?”

  “Nothing,” Bersi said. “There is nothing to do but wait.”

  “Iri has promised to take me to the healer,” she blurted out. “The one who attended to my father’s wound.”

  Bersi’s eyes met hers and she almost flinched from the intensity of his gaze. “Why would you do that?”

  “I have to know the truth,” she replied angrily. “I need to know what happened.”

  “And what good will it do you to know such a thing?”

  “I—”

  She did not know the answer to that, and she glared back at him. He had no say in what she did. She was the mistress here.

  “That is not for you to ask,” she snapped.

  “I cannot keep you safe if you take such risks.”

  “You are not my guard,” she retorted. “I can take care of myself.”

  “As you say.” He looked away, but Torunn thought she saw his mouth twitch in a smirk and she felt a flash of anger.

  “I do not need a slave to tell me such things—”

  A fist pounded against the door and Bersi flinched and grabbed for the latch. He pulled the door open as Torunn rose up off her knees. Her hand was on the hilt of her knife, ready to pull it free of its scabbard.

  “What are you— You do not know—”

  What if her brothers had sent someone to kill her? What if Jarl Sigurd had taken the attack as an insult and turned on Hallvard. Her life was worth nothing to them if Hallvard and Asgaut had been taken hostage.They wouldn’t need her any longer.

  “Iri!”

  The Jarl’s advisor pushed his way into the house and Bersi closed the door tightly behind him.

  “What is happening?” she choked out.

  Iri pressed his palms to his cheeks and let out a long breath. “The fighting has stopped, but another man was killed. Many are injured.”

  “Tyr… what happened to him?” Torunn had lost sight of him before she had been pulled from the hall.

  “Dead,” Iri replied flatly.

  She bit her lip. It was a mercy that he had been killed. Jarl Sigurd would not have given him a quick, or an honorable death, for his betrayal of the truce that had been called.

  “I have been called into a meeting with the Jarls,” he continued. “It seems that Jarl Sigurd does not trust your brothers’ intentions.”

  “Nor should he,” Torunn snorted. She staggered just a little and wished that she had eaten something solid at the feast. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Iri. “Do they require my presence? Is that why you are here?”

  Iri shook his head. “I had to see— I had to be sure that you were unharmed. Hallvard will ask.”

  “I am quite well,” she said bitterly. “No thanks to my brave brothers.”

  Her ribs ached from where she had been kicked, and her jaw was sore, but she was unharmed. Shaken, but unharmed.

  Iri nodded briefly and turned for the door.

  “Is there nothing else? What of the healer?”

  Iri glanced at Bersi and then met her gaze somewhat reluctantly. “I have spoken to him. Thidrik.”

  Torunn felt something like hope surge in her chest. It was faint, but it was still hope. “Will he see me?”

  “At dawn. I will take you to him.”

  “I do not need your help,” Torunn retorted.

  “You will need my help to distract the guards that have been set outside Iarund’s door. No one has been able to speak to the healer since his return to Skaro. I think you are right to be suspicious. But you must be careful. Hallvard has taken a dangerous path, and I cannot be certain what will happen—”

  “Is that how you judge everything, Iri?” Torunn asked incredulously. “Whether or not a situation will drift in your favor before you undertake it?”

  Iri stiffened and Torunn crossed her arms over her chest.

  She had insulted him.

  Good.

  Unnecessary, but good.

  “It is my duty to the Jarl to see all sides of a situation,” he said.

  “As many faces as Loki,” Torunn said sharply. “I hope they continue to serve you well.”

  Iri bowed his head and moved toward the door. “I shall return for you at dawn. Be ready.”

  Torunn waved him away. “Get out of my house.”

  Bersi opened the door and Iri strode into the darkness without looking back. He knew his place, especially in her house. There might have been a time that he had desired her, and there might have been a time that she might have entertained such a thing—but she knew him too well to trust him.

  Regardless of his lofty protests and self-important airs, Iri would always take the path that would benefit him the most, especially if it would keep him out of harm’s way.

  Bersi closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Get some sleep,” he said gruffly.

  “I intend to,” she snapped. “Wake me before dawn. No one is allowed in except Heldi and the other servants. No unfamiliar faces, and no familiar ones either.”

  Bersi’s thick eyebrow rose but he did not argue with her. He understood what she wanted well enough. Tyr was dead, her brothers were in conference with Jarl Sigurd. Any time she might have had—any delay of the impending wedding—it was gone now.

  She had no doubt that Jarl Sigurd would want to claim his prize and return to Bitra as quickly as possible.

  She could not allow that to happen, and the information Thidrik the healer carried with him could be the key to her freedom… but not just hers. Skaro’s freedom hung in the balance, too.

  Torunn strode across the floor, spat in the fire, and kicked open the door to her chamber. She left the door open and sat down upon the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. She did not expect to sleep in the few hours before dawn broke, and she murmured a prayer to Freya.

  Watch over your daughter. Make my steps sure, and the edge of my knife as sharp as your smile...

  Bersi’s footsteps on the wooden floor sounded loud in her ears, and Torunn rubbed at her eyes. She had done her best to stay awake, but from the stiffness in her limbs she knew that she had failed. She pushed herself off the bed, slid her knife back into the sheath at her hip, and stretched.

  “It is time,” Bersi said from the doorway.

  “I know.”

  Bersi nodded. “Will you eat?”

  “Later.”

  “Heldi will have my head,” he said softly.

  Torunn glared at him. “I may let her take it.”

  Bersi’s deep chuckle sent a tiny shiver up her spine, but she shoo
k it off and strode forward. This was not the time for foolish thoughts.

  “We must go. Iri will be waiting.”

  “If he survived the night,” Bersi said shortly.

  Torunn paused. She had not thought of that, but she shook her head at the impossibility of it.

  “Iri is too cunning for my brothers. If anyone could survive, it would be him.”

  “As you say.”

  Torunn had realized at some point that when Bersi replied in such a way it meant that he did not agree with her, but he knew better than to argue. One day she would challenge him when he said those words. But not today.

  “Keep up,” she snapped.

  She strode through the house and snatched up a warm cloak. There would still be snow at the healer’s house, and the early morning was cold and forbidding, and she could feel the sharpness of the wind through the cracks in the walls of her house.

  To her surprise, Bersi followed dutifully, and as she stepped out into the dark she felt more convinced that what she was doing was right. She deserved to know the truth of her father’s death. The village deserved to know.

  If Hallvard and Asgaut were lying, they were unfit to rule Skaro, and she could take the place her father would have wanted for her. She would not need to marry, and she could strike Jarl Sigurd down for his insults.

  Her father would have approved of that.

  They met Iri in the street, and while he seemed surprised to see her, he said nothing. He looked as though he had not slept, and his pale eyes were red-rimmed and angry.

  She did not care to ask what had transpired in the council meeting, it was obvious enough that it had not been a pleasant one.

  Iri led them through the silent village, away from the great hall toward the outskirts of the fortifications.

  “This is not the way,” Torunn hissed.

  Iri did not look at her as he pushed open a door that had been hidden in the wood and stone wall. “It is if you do not want to be caught,” he replied tersely.

  Torunn stopped short, struck by a sudden thought, and Bersi stepped on the heel of her boot, unable to stop himself in time to avoid it. He murmured an apology she did not hear and she turned to face him.

  “Did you know of this entrance?” she demanded quietly.

  Bersi’s gaze shifted to Iri and back to her. “I did.”

  “Is this how you entered Skaro during your attack?”

  The defeated rebel’s eyes did not shift again as she glared at him.

  “It is.”

  “Did someone… did someone let you in?”

  Bersi did not answer and she felt a different sort of anger clutch at her stomach.

  “Please, there is no time,” Iri said. “The sun will be rising—”

  Torunn whirled around and marched through the door Iri held open. She would have to address that particular betrayal later. But she would not forget it.

  Iri looked somewhat relieved, but Torunn did not care how he was feeling. She pushed him ahead and he led them up a different path, a steeper, more treacherous one. The rocks were slippery and the dirt fell away under her boots and Torunn struggled to keep pace with Iri and Bersi as they ascended the incline. It was a path better suited to goats and animals, but that was why it was secret.

  Her fingers were sore from the grip she kept on the rocks in front of her, and Bersi’s solid presence behind her gave her some confidence, but her mistrust of Iri kept her on edge. He pulled himself up over the final ledge and reached out to help her, but Torunn ignored his hand and braced herself for the final step.

  The dark rock was covered in a thin skin of stubborn lichen, and she held her breath as she pulled herself up against the rock. Her boot slipped and she closed her eyes for a moment as she imagined the empty space below. If she fell—

  Bersi’s hand pressed against the small of her back and pushed her back against the rocks. She glanced back at him and then hauled herself up and over the ledge. Iri grabbed hold of her shoulder and pulled her the rest of the way and she sat on the edge of the cliff and tried to bring her breathing back under control as Bersi’s hands, and then his bearded face appeared over the edge as he climbed the rest of the way.

  “I did not know of this path,” she said as he rolled onto the grass.

  “It is an old one,” Iri said quickly. “I used it often to escape Hallvard and Asgaut. They were stronger than me, but I was faster. They could not climb it nimbly enough to catch me.”

  Torunn was not satisfied by his answer, but she could not argue with him. Hallvard and Asgaut had tormented Iri mercilessly when they were children, and it did not surprise her that he had endangered himself to escape them. She could barely manage the path, and could not imagine how difficult it would have been for a child to navigate.

  Iri held out a hand and Torunn allowed him to pull her to her feet. The sky had lightened considerably since they had begun their journey, and the village would be waking soon enough. Hallvard would not rise until much later, but that did not mean that they would not be missed—or that they were out of danger.

  “This way,” Iri said softly.

  He led them through the trees and Torunn’s breath caught as a gust of cold air whipped through the silvered trunks. Snow still blanketed the ground, untouched by the sun’s rays. Her boots broke through the hard crust of ice that covered the snow, and she looked back in mute paranoia at the path they left behind them.

  “We could be followed,” she murmured.

  “Not here,” Iri said. “The snow will freeze again and cover our trail. Do not worry.”

  But she was worried and nothing he could say would stop the feeling of dread that had begun to creep over her.

  The roof of the healer’s house began to take shape through the trees and Torunn allowed herself to breathe a small sigh of relief to see it. Her strides lengthened as they approached, but before she could charge ahead of him, Iri held out a hand to stop her.

  “Wait here,” he said. “We have approached from the rear, but there are guards. I will distract them while you speak to Thidrik.”

  “Surely, the guards will allow you to pass,” Torunn choked out. She still struggled with the fact that her brother had ordered a guard placed at Iarund’s house. Unlike the priests, the healers were neutral in all things. It was strange to her that she would not be allowed to speak to them if she chose. She was the sister of the Jarl—how dare they refuse her entry.

  “They will not,” Iri said. “They are under strict orders from the Jarl. Which means that we have to be careful.”

  Torunn remembered her last attempt to speak with the healer, and her jaw tightened. They had barely escaped. Hallvard would not be lenient with her if they were caught this time. There was no reason for them to be here—none that would convince him that she was not planning something more.

  There was only one reason that her brother would set a guard here. Hallvard was afraid of what Thidrik knew, and he was afraid of what would happen if anyone found out what that was.

  Torunn was determined to ruin his plans.

  She nodded briefly. “Go. I will wait for your signal.”

  “You will hear me speak to the guards,” Iri said with some relief. “I will speak loudly enough that you will be able to hear me. Listen carefully, we will not have much time before they begin to grow suspicious.”

  He was speaking to Bersi, and Torunn fought to contain her frustration.

  “How do I find Thidrik?”

  “He will know to come out,” Iri said. “It has all been arranged.”

  “We do not have much time,” Bersi growled.

  “Be careful,” Iri said. He laid a hand on Torunn’s shoulder, but she pushed it away. She did not need his comfort or reassurance. He only needed to do what he had promised. She would consider everything else later.

  “Go.”

  Iri nodded and walked toward the corner of the house with quiet steps. He glanced back before he disappeared around the side of the house and Torunn l
istened carefully for the guards’ challenge.

  “There—” Bersi pointed to a door that Torunn had not noticed. It opened slowly, just enough to allow a slender young man to step through. He watched over his shoulder and paused for a moment before he emerged from the house. The door remained open, just enough so that he could slip back inside if something happened.

  His undyed tunic was stained with blood, as were his hands, and Torunn swallowed thickly as she stepped out of the underbrush. Her feet were cold, and her hands were numb, but her heart beat steadily in her chest.

  Thidrik’s pale eyes widened to see her, and Torunn was briefly thankful for Bersi’s presence. The man was the same height as her, with large hands and powerful arms. He was a warrior as well as a healer, it was why her father had chosen him to go raiding.

  “Thidrik,” she began.

  He glanced behind him and nodded. “Be quick and ask your questions. I do not have much time. The wounded from last night—”

  Torunn glanced down at his hands and then back up at his nervous face.

  “You were with my father on his last raid,” she said.

  He nodded. “I was.”

  “And you tended his wounds.”

  Thidrik paused. “No… I did not.”

  Torunn blinked in surprise. “You did not?”

  “The Jarl— He…”

  Bersi’s attention snapped toward the side of the house and Torrun froze. She could still hear Iri talking to the guards, but she could not make out what was being said.

  “He what?” she demanded. “Tell me.”

  “I—”

  “You will not be harmed,” she assured him. “I will protect you. Whatever it is you have to say, I need to know the truth.”

  The healer’s blond head dropped and his shoulders slumped. “When he was brought to me, he would not allow me to tend his wound. He demanded a healer from among the monks.”

  “What?” Bersi’s growl surprised Torunn but she was just as stunned as he by the healer’s words.

  “A monk. He demanded that a monk attend to his injuries before he would allow me to see him.”

  “That is impossible,” Torunn choked out. “I cannot—”

  “I could scarcely believe it myself,” Thidrik said stiffly. “But it is the truth.”