Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  Aud and Katherine walked outside, and her new husband shut and locked the door behind them. The moment of truth had arrived, husband and wife alone for the first time. Noelle knew the world had altered the moment they exchanged rings. And now Randvior faced her with a flicker of dark desire in his eyes, which was soon replaced by a generous smile.

  “Come,” he motioned toward the table. “Our true bridal feast waits.”

  Noelle put the bouquet down and joined him. Randvior offered her a chair and she sat. Her lips quivered with anticipation, her insides a tangled mass of bridal nerves.

  Acting the gentleman, Randvior bowed and seated himself opposite her. He spooned small portions of food onto her plate and scooped more generous portions for himself. He sampled the meat. Neither of their thoughts was really on the meal, and he looked down at his plate, back at her, and then down again. Then he sprang from his chair and came at her. Noelle dropped her napkin and sighed triumphantly as he claimed her mouth. This is what she wanted—not food—not anything else, but him.

  She objected when Randvior broke their kiss and rushed across the room. He rummaged through a trunk and returned with two items in his hands—a gilded box and velvet bag. Noelle took a long sip of wine to avoid the intensity of his lingering stare. Kneeling beside her, he offered the box first.

  “In absence of your kinsmen, I offer this as my mundr—my bride price.”

  Overwhelmed by the elegance of the package, she opened it slowly. Filled with gold bullion, English coins! Confused, she raised questioning eyes.

  “My share of the takings from your father’s house. Wealth intended for your own posterity.” He presented the velvet bag next.

  Never had she expected such a generous gift, enough gold to make her independently wealthy. With quivering hands, she untied the black ribbon at the mouth of the bag. A strand of perfectly cut rubies and diamonds, fixed between cordiform gold beads—a string long enough to dip between her breasts. The clasp was too intricate for her nervous fingers to work right now. Randvior smiled and did it for her. She gasped, mystified as she fingered the large stones.

  “Morgen-gifu—my morning gift to my most cherished bride. It is given much too late,” he sighed ruefully. “But I ask you to receive it with all the respect a grateful groom might show his bride on the morning after they share the bridal bed.”

  She nodded. The extravagant gifts he presented were more than her father would have ever offered as dowry.

  What am I to do?

  “I have naught to give, no wedding gift and no dowry.” She lowered her eyes.

  He lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “There is nothing conventional about this union. Even if we were blessed with the luxury of time, I would have waived your dowry to prove how much I love you.”

  “I beg forgiveness,” she sniffled. “For the dreadful way I misjudged your intentions.”

  “Aye, min lille dukke, you reacted out of fear and require no forgiveness. I should have handled you more gently.” He lifted her from the chair. “Disrobe for me, I want to see you.”

  She undressed seductively, too slowly, determined to punish and reward him at the same time. The only gift she could offer was her body. And Randvior Sigurdsson deserved it. The moment her clothing dropped, he crashed into her as lethal as a tidal wave.

  The heat from her body sent a flurry of wild thoughts whipping through his mind. Impure and animalistic. It nearly strangled every ounce of civility left inside him.

  Delicate tinder, hungry flame.

  The memory of finding her with Sveinn drove him crazy. He wanted to be inside her now, share the joys of her body, and blot that bastard out of her memory forever. Randvior unlaced his breeches and blanketed her from behind. He’d fantasized about this position on many occasions and she wiggled playfully before him—inviting him to do as he pleased.

  She squirmed and moaned, welcoming him. His hand glided between her legs and found the sensitive spot that sent her body into uncontrollable tantrums. Her thighs were slick with excitement, and Randvior steadied her, while staring longingly at the heart-shaped cheeks that begged for his shaft to plunge between them. He pierced her like an arrow.

  She cried out as he entered and he froze midstride.

  “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  He grinned lasciviously and continued. It felt too damn good to stop. Randvior locked his hands around her stomach and lifted her off the bed. “Stand up for me.”

  He gently walked her to the wall. Noelle seemed to know what he wanted and rested her palms against the boards. She arched to accommodate him. He gulped for air—her tiny ass bobbed every time he moved. He closed his eyes and allowed her to control the rhythm.

  Beautiful seductress.

  “Randvior . . .” she purred. “. . . It feels so good.”

  “Du kommer til å drepe meg, jente.”

  Noelle sucked the life force out of him and it took every ounce of mental stamina he possessed not to explode inside her like an unpracticed boy. He withdrew and spun her around. Then draped her across the mattress on her back as she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him down. Within seconds, they finished together.

  Loud pounding yanked Randvior from sleep on the fourth night of his honeymoon. He bolted upright and eyed his sleeping bride tenderly. The poor girl was drained—overwhelmed by his bed play. He’d taken her countless times and in many ways, used her wee body to fulfill every youthful fantasy he had.

  The knocking grew more intense and desperate. He growled angrily as he got up and grabbed his sword. He stalked to the door and threw it open.

  “Speak!” he thundered, standing stark naked over a boy he dwarfed.

  “Jarl,” he said. “You’ll not know me. I’m Matheson, one of your newer stable hands. There’s been an attack. Someone set fire to several cabins and many have perished.”

  At that, Randvior motioned him inside and slammed the door. The servant stared unwittingly at him.

  “I’ve been sent to retrieve you. Master Aud appointed me as his personal messenger and humbly begs you to postpone the rest of your holiday and come home.”

  Randvior latched on to his shoulder and shook him. “Who died?”

  “Three families—burned beyond recognition.”

  Randvior let go. “Ride boy, tell my captain I’ll be on my way. Gather the women and children and hide them in the cellars. Prepare the steading for battle, arm every man and boy with whatever weapons you can get your hands on—sticks if that’s all you can find.”

  “Aye.” The servant bowed and paused at the doorway.

  “Go!” Randvior pushed him outside.

  Noelle yawned and stretched, and scanned the room. She smiled once she discovered Randvior standing at the open doorway naked. But her smile quickly faded once she noticed the weapon in his hand.

  “Get up.” He slammed the door. “We must return home at once.” Not wanting to alarm her, he offered no further explanation.

  He tossed the sword on the bed, grabbed a towel, and washed his face with water from the basin. Disgusted, he threw the linen at the wall and walked to the door. “Lock it after I go out.”

  A cold bath would clear his head, and a half frozen stream would serve him well.

  Sleepily, Noelle stumbled out of bed and latched the door. Had she done something to displease her husband? Deep concern gripped her heart. She could think of nothing under the sun and moon that would lure him from their bed unless it was serious. Judging from the intensity of their lovemaking last night, she was the sole object of his desire, the only person who existed in his universe.

  She bathed. Only last night Randvior had threatened to penetrate the layers of her soul—to pierce her heart with his love. Her body jolted at the memory of it.

  She dressed hurriedly, putting o
n a plain wool gown. Despite its lack of adornments, the material was soft and warm. Eager to get outside, she skipped putting on a pair of leggings and laced her boots over bare feet.

  She smiled as she hurried to the door. A little love goes a long way—she’d help him recover. As she reached for the latch, Noelle stopped short at the sound of male voices outside. She listened closely and easily recognized Randvior’s baritone. But there were at least two others—possibly arguing with him?

  She strained to hear more—pressed her ear to the window, the faint glow of dawn sneaking its way around the edges of the old curtains.

  “How did you know where to find me?” Randvior asked.

  “Look to your mother,” a man answered.

  She shivered. That woman had her talons buried in every man’s hide within a day’s journey of Randvior’s steading. It was unsettling. Nine days since she had been home, nearly five spent with Sveinn and four with her husband. It was the closest she would ever come to escaping Lauga’s destructive reach.

  She imagined the dark witch conjuring spirits. Consulting tarot cards or reading rune stones to predict her son’s whereabouts or relying on dark forces to threaten Noelle’s future prospects of happiness. A flutter of butterfly wings tickled her stomach and she wrapped her arms protectively across her midriff. Open the door, chase the intruders away. But a voice inside her head warned she should grab as many weapons as she could carry. Noelle went to the trunk.

  Get knives—many of them.

  Her silvery blade only waited her hand, and Randvior’s sword was too heavy for her to carry. His battle-axe was nearly as long as her body. She chose a long knife and turned back to the doorway. What are you waiting for? The same hesitation that often over powered her common sense and got her into trouble growing up nearly took over now. She started for the door after she heard Randvior scream.

  She nearly yanked it off its hinges as she went outside.

  No one was at the front of the cabin and she started for the stream. She stopped to think before she took another step. Emotional responses always ended badly. Get a hold of yourself. Valuable advice she remembered from her father. Good thing she stopped. Noelle’s stomach felt gravelly and a wave of nausea nearly made her throw up.

  Loud noises came from around the corner. “Put him down!” a voice demanded.

  Then silence.

  Showing herself might distract Randvior and put his life in jeopardy. The unpleasant sensation she felt earlier intensified in the pit of her belly. She decided to listen in a little longer before she made her presence known. Her eyes grew wider, spying Randvior’s unclad form partially submerged in the icy water with a man dangling helplessly in his grip. She’d seen him do this to a man before and knew what to expect. Two others with weapons drawn were standing only a few feet away and verbally threatening him with every sort of violence known to mankind.

  She marveled at her husband’s extraordinary strength. As vulnerable as he appeared—weaponless and naked—he was an incredibly imposing figure in the morning light. From head to toe, he swelled with fury and a rare vengeance shined in his eyes.

  Noelle considered their positions.

  She estimated twenty-five feet between her and the closest man. If she charged from behind, aided by the element of surprise, she might be able to stab one in the back. This standoff was accomplishing nothing. God help her. Unwilling to watch her Viking sacrifice himself to these nameless brigands, she charged. The man on the left was her intended target.

  The sturdy blade cut deep. Randvior screamed as the man she stabbed swung and cuffed her across the side of her face with something as heavy as a mace. She tumbled, and the light faded in and out as she lay on the ground, trying to maintain consciousness. In the confusion of the skirmish that broke out after, Noelle searched for Randvior. She managed to keep one eye focused if she kept the other squeezed shut. Randvior crushed the man’s skull he was holding with his bare hands and tossed him aside.

  The man she had stabbed lay only feet away, curled in the fetal position—his weakening groans evidence she had aimed well. There was blood everywhere. Lightheaded, her vision blurred again. Not now, please God, not now . . .

  “Stay with me!” Randvior was close; she knew it without seeing him.

  “Get back!” a voice warned.

  Noelle raised her head, arms flapping uselessly at her sides. The third attacker circled her, blocking Randvior’s path. With great effort, she managed to rise up on one elbow and meet her husband’s worried eyes. She looked toward the woods and spotted another figure. It moved closer—Brian? She wanted to scream his name out, warn Randvior, but it was impossible. Her brother was in Durham, not Norway!

  The world started to spin. She collapsed and vomited, didn’t have the strength to sit back up. Noelle heard the unmistakable sound of bodies moving and weapons scraping. The world went black.

  Randvior’s eyes snapped open. His head felt like it had been impaled on a Rus pike. He wiped fresh blood off his right brow. He could hardly move his left arm, where he found a gaping wound. How much blood had he actually lost? And then, it hit him, Noelle . . .

  He staggered to his feet. Found her withered body some twenty yards away from where he had fallen. He raced to her side. By Odin, what have I done?

  Noelle had saved his life, defended him with what little strength she possessed. He groveled helplessly at her feet, regretted everything he had ever put her through. The list of violations were endless. He bowed his head. Forgive me, my love.

  He swept her into his arms. As he made for shelter, more blood seeped from his wound.

  He rushed to the warmth of the cabin and slammed the door. Laid her across the bed, undressed her, and examined her from head to toe. A nasty bruise and a small cut along the hairline of her left temple were the only injuries he could see. Dry blood was crusted on her cheek. He suspected a concussion, which sparked fear inside him. He immediately tried to wake her. Called her name a hundred times, but nothing helped. Her pulse was erratic.

  “Wake up,” he croaked. He’d seen this type of wound before. Watched men in the prime of life succumb to serious head injuries.

  There was water in the pitcher on the bed stand and he wet a cloth and sponged her off. “Wake up, pokker det.”

  His hope deteriorated as he started to massage her feet. Pinched her arms and legs, caressed her cheeks. She needed stimulation and he’d utilize any tactic necessary to rouse her, even pain. Randvior grabbed a knife from the table and quickly made the decision to use it. Gently at first, he pressed the tip into the soles of her feet. No response. He scraped the blade across her toes, nearly drawing blood. Nothing.

  “Wake up, god damn it,” he begged. Odin, heal her and this wound in my heart.

  His jaw clenched as he further appraised her condition. They were too far away from home to ride for help. Nothing seemed to work. The stream!

  He scooped her off the bed and carried her outside. The frosty air made him shiver, reminding him that he had no clothes on. He waded into the frigid water, knelt, and submerged her—letting her head dip under for only a second. As he lifted her, she sputtered and coughed. Those beautiful brown eyes opened in horror and confusion. His heart nearly burst and tears of infinite joy filled his eyes.

  Randvior balanced her on his knees and brushed strands of hair from her face. Her lips were dark blue and her teeth chattered, but he was more than just a little bit tempted to steal a kiss. He needed to get her inside by the fire. And to tell the truth, if he didn’t warm up soon, he’d freeze to death, too.

  Chapter 19

  Burning Cross

  Fear and loathing burned Randvior’s throat as he deposited Noelle on the bed and wrapped her in blankets. He rushed to the hearth and dropped an armful of kindling, built up the fire until it roared. He returned bedside and looked deeply i
nto her eyes. They were wide open, pupils dilated, and she complained of a throbbing skull—considering the force of the blow she’d . . . Oh god, she was lucky to be alive.

  Hours later, she slowly became more aware of the things around her. She’d stopped calling him by her father’s name and had noticed the nasty gash down the side of his shoulder.

  She demanded he let her stitch him up before he bled to death in front of her. Her resiliency astounded him and he pacified her by sitting down on a chair next to the fireplace so she could see. If she needed to use him as a pincushion to stay alert and awake, his body was at her service. She poured half a bottle of wine over the wound and stepped away as Randvior cursed the day. Once the pain subsided, he eyed her speculatively. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea letting her handle a needle and thread right now. Unaware of any formal training she had for surgery, he accepted the fact that he was about to find out.

  Medical supplies were always kept in his saddlebags. He watched as she dug around and pulled out sheep gut thread and a needle. She sterilized the needle over the open flame and doused it with alcohol, repeating the process twice. He arched a brow worriedly as she threaded the needle and held it up for inspection.

  “Are you ready?” She put her hand on his shoulder.

  Practiced fingers sunk the needle under his skin and completed the first stitch. He flexed his fingers on the other hand to keep his mind off the stinging, nagging pain. After careful stitching, she counted forty stitches out loud, cut the thread, and knotted the ends together. Randvior regarded her handiwork and nodded appreciatively.

  “It will do,” she said.

  “Aye,” he agreed. Forty tiny stitches—small ones left less of a scar. He smiled. If Aud or one of his other men had gotten their hands on him in the field, they might have sewn him together with twenty. What other skills had she hidden from him? “Your talents are endless.”