Falling For Her Viking Captive (Sons 0f Sigurd Book 2)

by Harper St. George

  Many would say he would be justified in visiting vengeance upon Wilfrid in kind. If his father had lived, he would have led men to Glannoventa’s shores and burned the whole village, slaughtering all who stood between him and revenge. Rurik could not condone the slaughter of innocents, so he would use Annis and whomever else he needed to get to the men who had committed the unforgivable crimes.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Annis?’

  The sharp sound of her name caught her off guard as she locked the door to the cellar behind her. Letting the key fall back in place on the ring at her waist, she took in a breath and turned to face Cedric, the man in charge of Wilfrid’s warriors. His old and dear face was lined with concern as he approached her.

  Her parents had sent her to be raised by Wilfrid at the age of eight after their home had been invaded by Danes. They had deemed it safer in the west and, since she had been betrothed to Wilfrid’s son, Grim, moving here had been a logical measure. As a result, Cedric had been a great source of comfort and support to her for more than half of her life. Even more so when Wilfrid’s health had begun to decline in recent years after Grim’s death, leaving the weight of Glannoventa to land on her capable shoulders.

  Cedric was a dear friend and advisor and she longed to have his guidance in this. Yet, however much she trusted him, it would be best if he kept away from the Norseman. He was the only one who was truly innocent in this entire tragedy, and she hoped that it would stay that way.

  ‘So it is true. You took the Norseman.’ His brow was furrowed in both anger and concern as he closed the distance between them.

  ‘Alder told you?’ While she had not expected the events of the previous night to stay secret, she had hoped to break the news to Cedric herself.

  ‘Is it true?’

  Nodding, she said, ‘I took him his morning meal. He’s fine.’ Ready to spit fire because he was so angry, but otherwise fine.

  ‘You should allow someone else to deal with him.’

  It would suit her if no one knew that the Norseman was down there, but, unfortunately, that was impossible. While no one had seen them load him into the cart and they had kept him covered on the short drive from the village, she had no doubt that a vigilant servant would have seen them taking him downstairs and she could not hide the fact that she took him food. Servants would eventually begin to talk.

  ‘He is my responsibility,’ she said.

  Losing her unborn child so soon after her husband’s death had left Annis with a well of grief so deep it seemed she would never be whole again. The need for revenge had filled the empty spaces they had left behind in her heart. This was her mission. She wanted to limit the involvement of the others as much as possible.

  Cedric’s scowl deepened. Something in his face had always reminded her of a handsome falcon. His nose was prominent and blade straight with well-shaped nostrils. That, combined with a lean face and high cheekbones, would have been enough. But his eyes completed the impression, since they were dark and observant, always taking in what was happening. In her childhood, he was often the one who would catch her in some mischief before she had scarcely started it.

  ‘The danger to you is too great to allow—’ He abruptly broke off at the sound of footfalls. Gently taking hold of her arm, he led her down the wide corridor.

  Their home occupied the ruins of the praetorium in the old Roman fort. Wilfrid and his ancestors had prided themselves on caring for the structure. Most of the walls had been maintained with new stone and plaster over the centuries, as had the roof. As the original commander’s home, it was built in the Roman style with rooms surrounding an atrium and a courtyard. This was where Cedric led her now. It was the one place no one would disturb them and had been the setting for many of her childhood lectures. Once she had come to live with Wilfrid, Cedric had wasted no time in picking up those lectures where Father Cuthbert had left off. She nearly rolled her eyes as she might have years ago.

  Closing the great wooden double doors behind them, Cedric turned to face her. ‘You must not see to the prisoner, Annis. Let someone else do it.’

  ‘You do not understand. I must do it myself.’

  ‘I do not understand?’ He waved his hands in agitation before settling them on his hips. ‘If he were to escape, he would harm you.’

  She inclined her head in acknowledgement of his concern for her. ‘Please trust that you and Grim taught me well. I can use the dagger at my hip and am fast when speed is needed.’

  His sharp gaze caught on the dagger at her hip. ‘It’s not your skill that I question, child, but your experience with this particular type of beast. You have never faced an opponent with nothing to lose. He is trapped down there and would harm even himself if it meant any hope of escape.’

  Suddenly, things did not seem quite so clear to her. Even though there was a peal of truth to his words, she said, ‘That is a bit of an exaggeration. He’s hardly a beast.’

  ‘He is,’ Cedric said without hesitation. ‘For all that he is a man, he is chained and kept in a cage. Soon the animal will win out and he’ll be acting on instinct. He is a heathen Norse. They cannot be trusted to take into account refinements.’

  ‘What refinements?’

  ‘That you are a woman. That you are the lady of this household.’

  Her heart pounded in response to the vision that brought to mind, causing her to place a hand on her breast to attempt to settle it. She did not particularly like it that she might be the one responsible for turning a man into an animal. She also did not think that any man, Norse or otherwise, would take into account that she was a woman if he escaped. She had learned to fight because she would be treated as a warrior.

  Deciding to ignore that, she said, ‘He is being cared for. He is chained, but he can move about freely. He has food and water.’

  ‘Food and water, but the threat of death hangs over his head.’

  Pain beat behind her temple. Cedric was right. The scene he described was very accurate. She had put that man in a cage and he would soon turn into a raving beast. Guilt and self-loathing ate at her from the inside. She had taken a terrible turn of events—the fact that he had come here seeking vengeance—and made them even worse. If anyone should be in a cage it should be her and that Gael assassin who had gone to Maerr and killed with Wilfrid’s coin in his purse.

  But what could she have done differently? She could not allow the Norseman to wander free, not when he wanted them dead. Not when the pain of her own loss was sometimes so keen it still had the power to take her breath away.

  ‘Annis?’ She did not realise that she had been pacing until Cedric touched her shoulder to stop her. His eyes were kind with concern as he said, ‘Tell me who this man is.’

  ‘I—I am not certain.’ She regretted the lie as soon as it was spoken. It sat like ash on her tongue.

  His knowing gaze combined with her guilt stripped away the layers of her reluctance. ‘Then tell me who you suspect him to be. I cannot help you if I do not understand what we might be up against.’

  He was right. Again. He was nearly always right, yet she could not bear to tell him. Or perhaps it was more that she could not bear him to know what she had done. She could hardly face the truth these last two years, much less confess her crime to him.

  Stifling a groan of protest, she turned away and sat down on one of the many benches that lined the courtyard. In spring and summer, she planted flowers in the beds that filled the gaps between them, but they were dormant now with winter upon them. She had been too caught up in her own anguish to notice the cold, but she felt it now as it seeped from the wood of the bench through her clothing. As if her cloak were a bandage that could bind her hidden pain, she pulled it tight around her.

  Cedric sat quietly beside her, his strong presence as calm and reassuring as always. Annis knew she had to tell him what she had done. If this Norseman was from Maerr
as she suspected, then more would follow. Cedric deserved to know why.

  Despite how strong she claimed to be, Annis had always suspected that she was very weak on the inside where it counted. After her Aunt Merewyn had been kidnapped by Danes, her parents had not wanted to chance another raid, so they had sent her to Wilfrid’s home. Annis had pretended to be glad. Without Merewyn there to care for her, she had not wanted to stay with them anyway. Her father was so busy she wondered sometimes if he even remembered her name, while her mother had never shown much interest in her. It had been easier to believe that she welcomed the move than to acknowledge the pain she harboured from their ease at ridding themselves of her. It did not mean the pain did not exist, it simply meant that she could not face it.

  It was the same now. She had been sent to Wilfrid’s household with the understanding that she would marry Grim when she was old enough. She had not chosen Grim, but she had loved him. At first like a much older, distant cousin, but that had slowly begun to deepen after their marriage. It had hurt her when he had been killed and even more so when the babe in her womb had soon followed. While she had acknowledged that pain to an extent, it had been easier to plan revenge. When Wilfrid had nurtured that anger, it had been no problem at all to watch it grow until it had been all-consuming, driving out any thoughts of pain, of vulnerability.

  She was not strong at all. Pain was something she carried around with her constantly. If she were a strong person, that pain would not hurt nearly as bad as it did. Perhaps if she wasn’t fighting against that pain, she might have made better choices.

  ‘Annis.’ Cedric took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze in silent encouragement.

  She could not meet his eyes as she spoke, so she set her gaze to the silver and black hair at his temple. ‘Do you remember when I left two summers ago to go to Merewyn’s bedside?’

  Merewyn had returned from the Norse lands with her Dane husband years ago and had taken up residence on the eastern coast. Her husband, Jarl Eirik, oversaw the Dane relations in the area Annis had called home as a small child. Annis had a fondness for her aunt and had spent time with her over the years, even if it did mean spending time with the Danes as well. ‘She was bedridden during the final months of carrying her last child?’

  Cedric nodded. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Going to her bedside was merely an excuse to get away. I never saw her. Instead, I went to Maerr.’

  ‘Where the devil is Maerr?’

  ‘The Norse lands to the east. The home of Sigurd, the King of Maerr.’

  Recognition dawned in his eyes at that name. Several years ago, before the killing in Maerr, Wilfrid had been part of a plan to assassinate Sigurd. Since Danes were scarce in the area, the Norse had come with the intent of staying. The Danes were already squeezing Glannoventa from the east, so Wilfrid wanted to stop this potential invasion by more outsiders. He had recruited Grim in his failed plan to kill Sigurd. Not only had they not assassinated Sigurd, but they had both received extensive injuries from the attack. It had taken many weeks, but Grim had died a gruesome, agonising death. Annis had tended him faithfully, but she hadn’t been able to help him. Unfortunately, she had lost the child she had been carrying soon after Grim’s death. The boy would have been their first child.

  ‘Sigurd...the one who wanted to take over Glannoventa,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘The same man. After he caused Grim’s death, Wilfrid became more determined than ever to kill him. Around two years ago, the hired men Wilfrid and Grim had used in their first attempt came for a visit. They had heard about an upcoming wedding in Maerr for one of Sigurd’s sons. It was an excellent opportunity to get close to the King, as many guests had been invited from all over. They wanted to know if Wilfrid wanted to be a part of another attempt.’

  ‘And of course Wilfrid wanted a part.’ The bitterness in Cedric’s tone was not lost on her. Wilfrid had not shared this with even his most trusted man.

  Squeezing his hand gently, she said, ‘He did, but was too ill to go.’ A huff of air escaped Cedric, so she touched his shoulder to offer him some solace. ‘Wilfrid did not want you to know, because he knew you would not approve. He did not want you to be a part of it in case it went badly again.’

  ‘But you were a part of it? You went in Wilfrid’s place?’ He could not keep his disbelief from his voice.

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘Wilfrid does not know that I went. I overheard a bit of their conversation, so I knew he paid them some up front. I approached the assassins secretly and demanded to be a part of it. I did not trust them not to run off with the coin and never set foot in Maerr.’ She looked down at her lap. Her voice lowered when she added, ‘The truth is that I also wanted revenge for Grim and our child. I wanted to see Sigurd dead myself to know that he was punished for their deaths.’ She also felt that by losing her babe, she had failed to give Wilfrid the only part of his beloved son that was left. It was only right that she participate to help bring some sort of justice for their family’s losses.

  Cedric rose to his feet as the implications of her words settled over him. ‘Then this Norseman—the one who arrived yesterday—is from Maerr?’

  ‘I believe that he may be.’

  ‘Do you recognise him? Does he recognise you?’

  She shook her head and rose to stand before him, hurrying to explain. ‘We have learned that his name is Rurik and he arrived yesterday on a ship looking for Wilfrid. I believe that he might be one of Sigurd’s many sons. As we were waiting for the wedding to begin, I learned all their names in case something like this came to pass. However, I never saw the one named Rurik. He was away.’

  Though she had met one of them up close. Sandulf. He had been barely more than a boy, but he had marked her. The scar he had left on her lower back throbbed with her guilt.

  ‘And your mission was a success. Sigurd was killed,’ Cedric concluded. Word had reached them of Sigurd’s death months later.

  ‘He was killed, but not because of me or the assassins.’ When she closed her eyes, she could relive the mad fury that had broken out in the hall. The whole place had erupted into a battle. ‘We did not know it, but there were others there who had come with the same intentions. Someone else killed Sigurd.’

  And the others. So many others had died when it was only supposed to be Sigurd. The men Wilfrid had hired had battled for their lives against the other warriors. The Gael, their leader, was the one who had broken from the plan. He had attacked a pregnant Norse woman, a wife of one of the sons, and brutally killed her. Annis had tried to stop him, but she had been too late to intervene.

  ‘Then why has Rurik come?’ Cedric asked, breaking up her thoughts.

  Annis shrugged. ‘The longhouse was chaos. It is possible that no one knows who drew the blade on Sigurd. And there were other deaths that he would want to avenge.’ The blonde woman, her belly swollen with child, had met a gruesome end beneath the Gael’s sword. The memory of her death was burned into Annis’s mind. She had relived it so many times that she could recall the exact pitch of the woman’s scream and how she had reached out into the empty air in the end, hoping to be saved.

  The memory was too painful to share with anyone. Instead, she said, ‘Perhaps he has come to exact vengeance on anyone involved. He would likely think Wilfrid was involved because that idiot Gael insisted on calling me by that name. It is possible that someone heard it and made the connection.’

  She had disguised herself and had even contrived a new name, but the Gael had surprised her by using the name Wilfrid. It was as if he had delighted in using Wilfrid’s name in front of others. Perhaps he had wanted this to happen all along. If someone came for the group of assassins, they would seek a man named Wilfrid because he would be easier to find. Had she been smarter, she would have made certain that everyone knew the Gael’s name. She was not smart. She was not even strong.

  ‘Is it possible that the
assassins have been found and betrayed you?’

  ‘Anything is possible, but the Norseman asks for Wilfrid.’

  Cedric nodded and hung his head in a look that suspiciously resembled defeat. It tore at her heart.

  ‘I am sorry, Cedric. I have led us to this fate and I will accept responsibility. Wilfrid need never know that the Norseman is here.’

  Cedric stared down at her, all kindness wiped from his features, but his voice was not harsh when he said, ‘Wilfrid paid them and he agreed to be a part of the first assassination attempt, so he bears the brunt of the responsibility.’

  ‘It is kind of you to say so, but if anything, we share responsibility. The Norseman would not be here now had I not gone to Maerr.’

  ‘He paid the assassin. It is possible the Gael would have used Wilfrid’s name while there.’

  Annis inclined her head in acknowledgement. That was true; there was no telling how the assassin might have betrayed them. However, it did not relieve her of any responsibility for her own actions. She had chosen to go. She would have to face the consequences of that decision.

  ‘We have to kill him.’ Cedric’s words were so abrupt and unexpected that Annis jolted with them.

  ‘We will not!’

  ‘We have no choice. He cannot be allowed to let others know where we are.’

  Her mind raced with some way to convince Cedric that he was wrong. Killing the Norseman would not be the right course of action. Her heart would not allow her to be responsible for another death. ‘They will know already. He claims that he has men out there. That he arrived with some and they will even now be wondering where he is. Perhaps they even know that he was taken.’

  ‘Do you believe his claim?’ he asked.

  ‘I have doubts. I have had the men looking all night and they found no one.’