Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  Everyone on board served the same master now, and she might as well enjoy her elevated status amongst these heathens, whatever benefits it brought her. She scanned the deck. Randvior stood with his captains on the far end. He looked as if nothing in the world could bother him, as if nothing had transpired between them.

  The fresh air renewed her strength. Randvior’s gaze traveled with her. Ah. Apparently he wasn’t as immune to her as she had feared.

  A light breeze ruffled her skirts and she turned her face into the wind; the pungent smell of salt water pleased her. It reminded her of home and a sense of sadness struck her heart.

  Weather conditions were favorable. She thanked the heavens for this bit of good fortune. When they’d boarded the ship, some of Randvior’s men complained she might bring them bad luck. Her paramour disregarded these allegations and called them superstitious fools. Their ships were guided by Odin’s hand.

  As Noelle gazed heavenward, she smiled; the evening sky was colored with hues of glowing pinks and reds—a good omen. Red at night sailor’s delight, red in the morning sailor’s warning.

  As she explored, she further witnessed Randvior’s familiarity with his men. They were friends, sharing everything—something her brother had never done with his servants. This affection fostered loyalty. She saw it on every man’s face, how they admired and trusted him. Even Noelle’s father lacked this level of intimacy with his men.

  Unexpectedly, she spotted two familiar faces on deck. Two of her father’s soldiers were busy tying ropes. She greeted them, desirous to hear anything a fellow Saxon had to say.

  “Lady Sinclair.” Samuel Cronin bobbed his head.

  “Samuel,” she said. “Where are the other men and maids?”

  “The women are below and the other guards are split among the other ships, none too happy for it.”

  “Send my well wishes if you can,” she said looking at the second man. “And you, Henry Buckley, how are you?”

  “Happier after seeing you in one piece,” he spoke hurriedly as he looked over his shoulder. “We will find a way home, Lady Sinclair.”

  Empty words. Noelle imagined a homecoming feast that rivaled any she’d ever attended. A daughter returns much like the famed prodigal son—only she hadn’t squandered her inheritance or left willingly. A strange silence passed between them as they stared out to sea. Hundreds of miles separated her from England now, and there was nothing comforting except the ocean.

  She left Samuel and Henry and continued on a path toward Randvior.

  As she passed, a dozen men smiled with the same cocky amusement she’d grown accustomed to seeing on Randvior’s face. An unfortunate inborn flaw, perhaps.

  Her attention moved rapidly across the group of warriors that surrounded Randvior. His radiant face made her legs quiver as he stole another glance at her. She rested her hand on her hip. Her addled mind played tricks again. What if he boasted of his sexual conquests the way her father’s men always did? If these unscrupulous brigands knew what happened, would they ever respect her? She’d suffered already as the subject of his jokes.

  She covered her face, blocking Randvior’s eyes from her own. She was only guessing—which never served anyone very well. She whirled, retreating full speed, heading directly for the cabin. She collided with a soldier. Noelle shoved him away in a huff, and tripped over her own feet as she stumbled through the door. She slammed it shut, barricading herself inside.

  Confinement was the only escape at her disposal. But that only lasted a few minutes. Randvior tried to open the door. She braced her legs, hoped to keep the rest of the world locked out until they reached Norway. Randvior twisted the knob and pushed, but she stayed stubbornly locked in position. He banged on the planks and demanded she open the door. If she refused any longer, he’d probably just kick it down. She braced herself for what might happen when he came in and reluctantly stepped aside.

  “What happened out there? Did you see a ghost?” he asked, entering the room.

  “I would consider myself most fortunate if it was only an apparition taunting me.” She sat on the bed and wrung her hands nervously. “My conscience troubles me.” She raised her eyes to meet his.

  He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. She couldn’t keep herself from sneaking admiring looks at his body. Only flesh and bone, she reminded herself, he’s only flesh and bone. His fine looks did little to relieve her; she was so helplessly riddled with guilt, she didn’t know what to do with herself any more.

  He closed the door and moved closer. “Remember the things I told you in England?”

  “I remember too much.”

  What she really wanted were assurances for her future. She wanted him to vow he would care for her life as loyally as he would his own kinswoman’s. If he wouldn’t make her his wife, he should choose someone else. She needed a husband to protect her interests now. Even an inexperienced adolescent or an old man would do. As long as he had a pulse and a respectable name, she’d accept it. This was the only bargaining chip she had left.

  “Choose a man from amongst your warriors to become my husband if you won’t take me yourself.” If he didn’t choose her, if she were able to get out of his grasp, she might have a better chance of escape.

  “A husband?” he repeated it several times as if he didn’t hear her correctly. There was half a bottle of wine left over from last night on the table. He tromped across the room and grabbed it, took a deep swig, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then slammed it down. “You change your mind as quickly as the wind shifts direction!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Now you want a husband? Your brother told me you were not particularly fond of the idea of an arranged marriage.”

  “That was before you violated every code of chivalry that restrains men in power from taking advantage of their inferiors. I don’t care one bit where you come from, I am sure these rules are recognized on your side of the water, too. You have destroyed any hope I have for a comfortable future. Any man, if one will still have me, will demand explanation as to why I am no longer a virgin. What shall I tell him, sir?”

  “Who?”

  “My future husband.” You blundering idiot.

  His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something in return. He must have thought better of it, because he clenched his jaw and simply glared at her so intensely it looked like his head might implode.

  “Did you not offer yourself to me with extraordinary willingness for such an innocent?” He nearly paced a hole in the floorboards. “Think you so poorly of what we shared together? Think you so little of me?”

  “What can I base my judgment on? As you can see,” she moved off the bed and jammed her fingers into the sheets where flecks of blood stained the linen. “Until recently, I was an unfortunate maiden, completely unlearned in the ways of passion. I never encouraged your affection, but who am I to refuse my master? I am your slave, am I not?”

  Secretly, she burned for him. However her body reacted to his, at least she still maintained control of her heart. And that would never belong to him!

  His gray eyes zigzagged around the cabin. He looked away for a long time. And was denied any warmth the moment his attention wandered back to her.

  “You displayed ample skill between those sheets,” he said, grabbing a hold of her arms. “I might question your reputation if I weren’t a gentleman.”

  She snorted at his preposterous suggestion.

  “A gentleman,” she scoffed. “You of all things are not. You’re a bloody conqueror who pillages and rapes without conscience! If we’re going to discuss anyone’s reputation,” she shot back, “do we have enough time to discuss your history before we anchor?”

  “My actions have never been in question, madam.” His body swelled with rage; she could tell he was quick
ly losing patience.

  Wearily, she touched his arm. The strength to argue abandoned her entirely. Half a truce was better than none. “I’m sorry, Randvior.”

  He acknowledged her effort with a nod.

  “Let us make our peace,” she said.

  But he was not finished speaking his mind. He gripped her arms. “Did I not discuss the proposition of marriage with you before we sailed?”

  She twisted and he let go.

  “It was my understanding,” she said, “that you have a specific use for me. Perhaps offering my hand in marriage to someone for financial gain or to a political rival.”

  He looked positively disappointed and drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “If my intention was to auction you off or give you to a political rival, why should I risk devaluing my investment by claiming your maidenhead for myself?”

  This question was unanswerable. She refused to be part of this conversation any longer and abruptly changed the subject. “What is a concubine?”

  He threw his hands up exasperatedly. “Something you shall never be!”

  “What is it?” she pressed.

  “A woman who provides the same duties as a wife without the benefit of marriage.”

  Noelle scowled.

  “Damn it, I know what you’re thinking, Noelle,” he said, taking her by the arms again and giving her a small shake. Randvior seemed to be mentally scrambling to find a way to convince her she wasn’t his mistress.

  “I owe you nothing,” he said, deep lines creasing his forehead.

  “Yes,” she replied. “You owe me nothing, but still own me.” The damage had already been done.

  “I underestimated you,” he said. “You criticize too harshly for such a young woman. It’s a wonder your brother didn’t beat you to within an inch of your life before I came along.”

  “He did, on many occasions.”

  Randvior stared at her.

  Brian preferred to beat her with the hard heel of his boots over the traditional leather strap. How many times had she run away after a good throttling to examine her posterior in a mirror? “Tell me Jarl Randvior, what do you intend to do with me?”

  He paused in thought. Suddenly, a blooming smile lit his face.

  “Take you to bed.”

  After spending the night and half the next day in bed with Randvior, Noelle barely found the strength to get dressed and join him on deck. It was good timing on her part, his men pointed out a group of islands just off the western edge of Norway. She cupped a hand over her eyes and squinted to see the faint outline of her new home against the blinding light of the late afternoon sun.

  Randvior approached from behind. He slipped an arm about her waist and tugged her close. She smiled. This was the first time he showed her any affection outside the cabin. His benign touch quickly blossomed into something more fervid and he pulled her toward the cabin.

  Her muscles ached and her tender parts were raw. As soon as they got inside, she darted around like a wild goose.

  “Stop it,” he laughed. “I won’t touch you if that’s what you’re afraid of. We’ll be home by morning as long as this wind holds. I know you’re a bit saddle-sore from our lovemaking,” he teased. “Forgive me. I’m a love-struck fool, so enamored with you I failed to think of giving you a chance to recover.”

  Love-struck? Did he just say?

  She settled down on the bed. “I hurt in places too shameful to name.”

  “Sleep, min lille dukke, tomorrow is a new day.” He bent her head back and planted a kiss on her forehead. Randvior unbuckled his belt and put it on the table, and then lay down next to her with his boots still on.

  When she woke hours later, Noelle wanted to thank Randvior for his consideration in the night. The space beside her was empty, though. She rolled out of bed and shivered. It was cold inside the cabin, despite the small brazier still burning near the bedside. Always a dreamer—she admitted it. The hatred she felt for this man had channeled away from her heart—if only temporarily. She had resolved she would always oppose him. Not only for what he represented, but because of the type of man he was. No wonder men ruled the world. There was no hope for the weaker sex. It should take more than a day in bed to reduce her to a boneless mass. She braided her hair, smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and went outside.

  The ship had just turned into a narrow inlet. A fjord, Randvior had called it when he described his homeland. And thousands of inlets dotted the coastline like fingers on a hand. High, rocky outcrops surrounded them, and to the south, snow-covered peaks stretched upward and outward for miles in every direction. Noelle looked over the railing; sheets of ice floated on the water, but the ship cut effortlessly through them.

  “How far to your steading?” she asked as Randvior joined her.

  “Maybe ten miles.” He pointed eastward. “This river borders my lands. We’ll follow it home.”

  The idea of bathing and drinking fresh water again pleased her. Luxuries she regretted ever taking for granted. Anything was an improvement over the stale-tasting water rations served from wooden barrels on the ship.

  What she regretted most, though, were her actions last night. She looked over her shoulder at Randvior—his face still glowing. After he bade her to go to sleep, she’d tossed and turned for nearly an hour. Unable to settle down, she’d demanded to see the Terms of Surrender her brother had signed. He’d offered it for inspection.

  She’d opened the scroll and eyed her brother’s grandiloquent scrawl at the bottom of the page. His B and S were exaggeratedly rounded for a man’s writing style.

  Her name was written out as insignificantly as she felt. Listed as one of many items the jarl was entitled to as payment for his leniency. She read her name out loud—Lady Noelle Marie Sinclair, youngest daughter of Frederick Michael McKenzie Sinclair, the Sixth Earl of Durham. No disputing this contract, she legally belonged to him.

  She’d studied the document contentiously, scanned further down the page, and read the amount of silver and gold he acquired and the names of the men and maids he claimed.

  “Everything seems to be in order,” she’d said with growing apprehension and dropped the contract on the bed.

  “Look.” Randvior’s pleasant voice interrupted her thoughts. He pointed toward a cluster of cottages built along the edge of the water on the last island. People gathered to watch the ships pass by and waved.

  She waved back.

  “Are you enjoying the scenery?”

  Admittedly, his lands were far more beautiful than Durham. More enchanting than anything she’d ever seen. “It’s breath-taking.”

  He raised his head and studied the sky as if he could read the future. “The snow is very late, but it will come, min lille dukke. And when it does, we’ll be imprisoned together for months with no escape.”

  She believed him. These were the legendary lands of the dragon people that her countrymen deeply feared. And now, I am a prisoner in the very place priests in the Sabbath pulpit liken to the torments of Hades.

  Chapter 8

  Homecoming

  With the weight of the world on her shoulders, Noelle stayed silent once they anchored and Randvior handed her over the ship railing, straight into the arms of two strangers. The men carried her to land and settled her amongst a crowd of people who waited eagerly to welcome them home. A group of lavishly dressed women stared at her. Of mixed ages, even the youngest scrutinized her from head to toe. She breathed steadily and offered her most courageous smile. Not one returned it.

  She knew they were trying to guess who and what she was to Randvior.

  Noelle looked past them and focused on her father’s former maids; Deanna, Katherine, and Johanna were being brought ashore, too. As soon as their feet hit ground, they scurried away from the men and flocked around
her. Noelle smiled radiantly and wrapped her arms around two of them, while she tried to calm the third with comforting words. She reminded them of the small courtesies the jarl had shown them already. Even though they had been kept apart for ten days, they appeared unharmed.

  “If he wished to mistreat us, I am sure he would have done so by now. He is at liberty to do with us as he pleases. I’ve sensed no malice in his heart.”

  “And who are you to judge the jarl’s heart?” a stern, but feminine voice sounded from somewhere behind.

  Noelle turned and locked eyes with a middle-aged woman with slightly graying-red hair. She was statuesque and Noelle instinctively recognized her. Randvior favored his mother.

  “Well, girl?” she demanded.

  Noelle took a deep breath, reluctant to say anything. Unfamiliar with the customs of these people, she didn’t wish to risk offending anyone—at least not until they had been properly introduced. His mother’s liquid-steel eyes reminded her so much of her lover’s that it made her shiver.

  Aud Magnusson walked toward them. He strolled casually up the pathway and stopped next to Noelle.

  “You were away longer than we expected,” the older woman said coldly.

  Aud shrugged. “The jarl received a vision before we departed the Orkneys, instructing him to sail to Durham.”

  “Durham?”

  “The English—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “I know the blasted place, Aud. What riches could possibly lure my son there?”