Her Rogue Viking

by Ashe Barker

  The man was wise to make himself scarce. Harald had known well enough his master’s wishes on the matter and Ulfric would not let such insubordination go unpunished.

  Brynhild had apologised to him for her part in what she seemed to consider a trivial misunderstanding. She claimed that she had intended for Harald to bring Fiona indoors after a few minutes, but he had failed to do so. She had been preoccupied with Njal who was unwell, so had not thought to check until at least a couple of hours had passed, and by then Ulfric had returned and had already released the girl.

  Ulfric listened to his sister’s account but did not believe a word of it. Apart from anything, his son was in his customary rude good health. He saw no point, though, in pursuing the matter further with Brynhild. The time for reasoning with her was now long past and his path was set as far as she was concerned.

  He had left the timing of the plan for Taranc to determine, but had privately hoped to have seen it executed before now. Maybe he needed to speak with the man again…

  “Jarl, you must come at once.” Dgar burst through the door of the longhouse, out of breath, his face red from running. “A slave is missing.”

  Ulfric stood and reached for his cloak. “Missing? Do you mean escaped? Which one?” He knew the answer to that already, but for appearances’ sake…

  “Taranc, the Celt. The tall one, brown hair…”

  “Yes, yes, I know the man.” He was aware of Fiona’s horrified gasp behind him. “What steps have you taken to find him?”

  “I have sent men to check along the coast, and—”

  “That will be futile. He is no sailor, and has no access to a ship. The man will head inland in search of food and a place to shelter. Send the hunting party east.”

  “Into the mountains?”

  “That would be my guess. Do it. Now.”

  “Ulfric, please… what will happen to him?” Fiona wrung her hands, her features ashen. “Please, do not hurt him.”

  He offered her a wry smile. “I would have to catch him first.”

  Of course, the searches achieved nothing. Not a trace was discovered, either inland or along the coastal route. Taranc was gone, and Ulfric took what he hoped would pass for a philosophical view of the matter. He had to work rather harder at seeming suitably distraught when his sister failed to return from her foraging trip. He arranged his features accordingly and dispatched men to search the meadows and surrounding woodland for any trace of her, and even sent to Bjarkesholm seeking news. None had seen her. The last definite sighting was the previous evening when, as was her habit, Brynhild checked their livestock before retiring to her bed. When her pallet was empty in the morning no one considered that amiss since she had made her plans known.

  Ulfric considered that detail a stroke of good fortune, and not one he could have counted upon. As it was, he could be reasonably confident that Taranc had several hours’ start on his pursuers, and since the horse Ulfric had left conveniently tethered just out of sight of the track leading to Hafrsfjord was no longer there when he checked, he had to assume Taranc had made use of the mount. The missing slave could expect to be at the harbour by that afternoon, and embarking on the short voyage across the North Sea by nightfall.

  The fisherman, Eiliefr, had driven a hard bargain, but he had eventually agreed a price for the use of his craft and his silence. Ulfric had done all he could for the fugitives, and now their fate lay in the hands of the gods.

  * * *

  “It is a coincidence, is it not, that they both disappeared on the same night. Surely, Taranc will not have…?” Fiona lay in their bed, her features troubled, then she answered her own question. “No, he would never do such a thing. He would not harm a woman, whatever the circumstances.”

  “We have no cause to connect the two events,” Ulfric sought to reassure her. The last thing he needed was for such speculation to spread. “I suspect your Celtic friend to be long gone, but Brynhild might yet be found safe and well. We must not abandon hope.”

  “No, of course not. I know she was… difficult, but I would not wish her harm. And Njal is heartbroken.”

  Yes, his son’s grief was very real and Ulfric regretted the need for it. Njal had adored his aunt and he knew Brynhild loved the little boy dearly. “I hope we shall be able to provide comfort for him through the days and weeks ahead.”

  “Of course. I will do all I can to help, you know that.”

  Ulfric nodded, grateful for Fiona’s support. Now, somehow, he needed to rebuild his family. And convince himself that his actions really were for the best.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fiona pulled on her warm leather sandals and tied them around her feet. The heat from the small fire in the sleeping chamber cheered her spirits, not least because spring was already softening the harsh features of the landscape surrounding Skarthveit. She longed for the return of the sunshine, had found the almost unrelenting darkness of the winter months depressing and hard to bear. Matters had not been helped by Njal’s misery at the loss of his beloved aunt, and even now, several months later, he still asked after her frequently.

  Fiona remained mystified by Brynhild’s disappearance. It was possible, of course, for a person to be dragged away by wolves or even brigands, but there had been no sightings, no other losses reported by other settlements up and down the coast. She half-expected a ransom demand, had suggested as much to Ulfric, but none came. There was nothing, no clue at all as to the Viking woman’s whereabouts.

  She emerged from behind the curtain into the main room to find Njal waiting for her, his eager little face bearing the remains of his dagmal.

  He sprang up from his seat at the huge table. “Come, it is time to go. We must be quick, while it is still warm enough to swim.”

  Welcome though it was, Fiona considered the spring thaw to amount to nothing remotely resembling suitable weather for swimming, but the boy had begged her to accompany him to the small inland lake about two miles from Skarthveit. She had reluctantly agreed, but on condition he did not expect her to dip more than a toe in the water. So they had struck a bargain, and she was committed.

  Two of Ulfric’s men were to accompany them as her Viking had not forgotten his brother’s warning about the continuing threats from the Bjarkesson homestead. All had been quiet over the winter months, since as Ulfric pointed out, even blood feuds required some daylight in order to be pursued well. But with the onset of warmer weather he fully anticipated the resumption of hostilities and he saw no reason to court danger.

  Ulfric appeared through the door and fixed the pair of them with his sternest expression. “You will remain at the lake for no longer than an hour. I shall expect to see you back here by mid-afternoon, well before it starts to drop dark again.” He paused. “Maybe you should postpone this excursion until a day when I can come with you…”

  “No, please, we have to go today. The lake could freeze again and—” Njal hopped from one foot to the other and summoned up his most pleading expression.

  “We shall be fine.” Fiona kissed Ulfric’s mouth. “I have my slingshot with me, and your men are armed. We shall return in plenty of time, I promise.” Then, before he could find further objections, she hustled the excited little boy outside to join their escort.

  * * *

  The lake was even colder than she had imagined. Fiona endured just a few minutes of paddling and hated every moment of it but Njal seemed oblivious to the icy temperatures as he danced and splashed in the shallow waters at the edge. Fiona absolutely forbade him to venture further, and he was still sufficiently mindful of his dipping in the fjord that he was happy enough to obey. Fiona had been glad of the chance to grant him this day out; it would help to strengthen the fragile relationship she was working to build with her Viking’s son. The boy had lost his mother suddenly a little over two years previously, and now his aunt was gone also. He was naturally reluctant to become attached to a third woman in his life, preferring to spend as much time as he could with his father. Ulfri
c was tolerant and patient, but both he and Fiona were convinced that Njal needed a mother.

  And it seemed, for want of a better candidate, that she was it. Fiona did not mind, she found the lad charming and he made her laugh. She supposed it would not be long before he had a younger half-sibling, though as yet she had not conceived despite Ulfric’s fervent efforts in that regard. She pondered the prospect of possible motherhood as she watched Njal’s antics and decided it might be quite nice… if she were a wife rather than a mistress.

  Ulfric remained adamant that a marriage between them was out of the question though in every way he behaved toward her as though she was his wife. Fiona had settled for that and she had not broached the subject again. This apart, she was happy enough living as they did. Her Viking was kind, attentive, he gave her pleasure beyond her imagining, and his creative wickedness in their bedchamber knew no bounds. Neither, it seemed, did hers as together they explored sensual fantasies Fiona had not known she harboured.

  She had discovered a tolerance for a decent spanking, and this had built to become something of a craving. She was astonished that she actually found the pain exhilarating, and her release following a few minutes across Ulfric’s lap would leave her breathless and begging for his cock. She was not completely certain that she liked him to fuck her arse, and would usually protest and seek to dissuade him. It never worked. Once he had decided to take her rear hole, he would do so and any objections on her part would be met with a delicate yet relentless finger applied to her clit, or a sharp slap to her buttocks. Either would yield the desired result and he would have his way.

  All in all, Ulfric was a generous lover; she could imagine none better.

  Taranc had been right. Her Viking was a rare find and Fiona was glad to share his bed, his life, and his son.

  “Yeeargh!”

  Fiona was dragged unceremoniously from her musings by the deafening battle cry. She leapt to her feet as at least a dozen Vikings charged from the cover of the nearby trees. All brandished weapons—swords, axes, daggers—and their faces were murderous as they descended upon the unwary group beside the lake.

  “Lady, quick. We are attacked!” The superfluous warning came from one of her guards as he rushed at her, the reins of her horse in his hands. He tossed Fiona into the saddle, then threw Njal up behind her, the lad still dripping wet. “Ride hard for Skarthveit and send aid. We will hold them off whilst you escape.”

  “What? No, there are too many…”

  Already her other guard was rushing to meet the oncoming horde, yelling his own battle cry as he swung his sword around his head.

  “Go, lady. Now!” The guard slapped the horse’s rump and the animal broke into a gallop. Fiona had to cling on for dear life as her mount lurched forward. Njal plastered himself to her back as she leaned forward in the saddle and fought to regain control of the dangling reins.

  At last she had the straps between her fingers. Not daring to slow down she peered back over her shoulder and was relieved to see that none of their attackers were yet in pursuit. Ulfric’s men were putting up a valiant defence. Fighting back to back, they were managing to fell any who came close, but they were surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered. Fiona knew they would not be able to fend off so many, not for much longer.

  Her mount reached the cover of the trees and was forced to slow. She glanced back again in time to see one of her guards drop to his knees.

  Oh, no. Dear sweet Jesus…

  She hauled on the reins to pull the horse up.

  “Njal, can you reach that branch there, the one hanging across the track?”

  “Aye, I can,” the lad replied quickly.

  She nudged the horse forward until they were immediately below the bough in question.

  “Grab the branch and climb up into the tree. Get as high as you can and stay quiet. And hidden.”

  “But—”

  “Please, do it quickly. Remember, do not come down for anyone but me. Or your father.”

  Mercifully the boy did not ask any further questions. He grasped the bough and swung easily onto it, then scrambled along until he reached the wide, solid trunk. In moments he was lost to her sight, up among the dark, thick branches of the tall pine. She was satisfied no one would find him there.

  Fiona slithered from the horse and ran back to the edge of the woodland. Her remaining guard was still on his feet but surrounded by the vicious raiders. He would be down in but moments, then the mob would come after Fiona and Njal.

  “I believe I might even up the odds somewhat,” she muttered as she reached inside her cloak to retrieve the slingshot. She selected a stone from among those she had stashed in her pocket before they set out, and she placed it in the sling. It took her but a moment or two to sight her first target, swing the weapon around her head a couple of times, then she let fly the small rock.

  A bellow of pain erupted from one of their assailants as he toppled forward to crumple to the ground. One or two others looked around, perplexed and uneasy, but Fiona allowed them no time to assess this new threat. She was already reloading for her next shot.

  The second stone was just as true as the first, taking out another of their assailants. Several now paused to scan the trees, clearly nonplussed at this unexpected attack. Fiona remained concealed as she loaded her sling again, then let fly.

  A third man clasped his hand to his face and sank to his knees. A few of the raiders broke off their attack on Ulfric’s remaining guard and started to make for the trees that concealed her, but Fiona let fly a fourth missile and dropped another man before he had taken more than three paces.

  “It must be Ulfric. He is coming.” The warning cry went up. It was clear the raiding party had no appetite for meeting the Viking warlord himself. Already several had turned and were running back in the direction they had come. Others limped behind them, glancing fearfully over their shoulders as though they expected a vengeful, marauding Ulfric to emerge from the trees at any second and cut them down where they stood.

  Fiona would have dearly loved to do just that, but settled for firing several more stones at their retreating backs, scoring two more direct hits before the last of their assailants disappeared into the undergrowth.

  Fiona counted ten men lying on the cold ground, and knew that two of them were their own. She grabbed her horse’s reins and remounted, then set the animal to a gallop back across the open land toward the site of the skirmish.

  One of her guards, the first to have fallen, lay motionless, face down in the dirt. The other was just managing to struggle to his feet.

  “Thor’s fucking hammer,” he murmured. “You felled eight of them, just like that.”

  “Not all eight, you and Erlend took care of several. But my weapon did enough to scare them away. For now. Quick, we must take Erlend with us…” Fiona leapt from the horse, intending to sling the injured man over her saddle and lead the animal back to Skarthveit.

  “Aye, but we shall take our horses too.” The guard pointed to where the other two mounts and Njal’s pony grazed quietly a hundred yards from where they stood. “Do you think you can round them up, lady, as I fear I am seeing rather more beasts than I know to be there.”

  “Oh, yes, of course…” She remounted and cantered off in the direction of the horses, while the guard dragged his comrade from the ground.

  By the time Fiona returned with the three mounts in tow the unconscious guard was moaning softly as his companion supported him in a position not far off upright. Between them they managed to get the more badly injured man onto a horse.

  “If any of these others still live we should take them as prisoners,” the man pointed out. “Our Jarl will wish to question them.”

  Fiona considered that an excellent point. “Yes, we shall do that.”

  The closest of her victims lay prone on the ground. The man was young, a lad really. His unseeing eyes were wide open, as though even in death he could not bear to shut out the final rays of light. The centre of his for
ehead bore the pink mark where her stone had struck him. “This one is dead,” she announced unnecessarily.

  She should have felt more regret at having taken lives, but she knew full well that had these raiders prevailed none of her party would have survived. Her instinct had been to protect Njal, and she had done what she must. She moved on to examine another man.

  He lay on his side, groaning and holding his hand to his temple. Blood seeped between his fingers. She had no way of knowing how badly he was injured, but would not be tarrying here to find out. “Help me to sling this one over the pony,” she called to the guard. “Njal can share with me.”

  “Where is the lad, lady?” Her companion scanned the surrounding moorland, only now realising that Fiona had returned alone.

  “Hiding. We shall collect him on the way. Hurry, we need to be gone before these bandits regain their courage and attack us again.”

  “Not bandits, lady. These were Bjarkessons. I recognised several of their faces.”

  The group clattered into Skarthveit shortly after, and the people of the settlement came running. Feeling distinctly lightheaded now that the danger was passed, Fiona clung on until she caught sight of her Viking as he charged toward her from the direction of the harbour. Only then did she slither from her mount and collapse in his arms.