Ivar The Red

by Victoria Vane

  “No,” she responded, fists clenching at her sides. Removing the armor would only accentuate her womanhood, her chief weakness.

  His gaze hardened. “Cooperation with me would serve you better than defiance.”

  She stood her ground. “You have already threatened to make me your prisoner if I refuse to swear fealty. What punishment do you intend to mete out for my refusal to give myself to you? Will you beat me into submission?”

  His lips compressed as he set the chalice down and slowly rose to his feet.

  She licked her lips, wondering if she’d finally gone too far. Emma swallowed back her fear as he advanced toward her. Instinctively, her hand rose to the silver crucifix at her breast.

  “You should never tempt the devil.” His gaze tracked her hand and narrowed. Reaching out, he closed his fist over hers and pried her fingers open one at a time. His eyes flickered in apparent recognition of the symbol of her faith. Then his full lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Apparently that is indeed who you think I am.”

  “The devil assumes many forms.” She snatched her hand away, but his gaze continued to linger unnervingly at the level of her breasts.

  “Your faith is mistakenly placed.” She gasped as a firm jerk of his hand snapped the delicate chain. “This will not protect you from me. Now, take off the hauberk.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “Bend over,” he growled.

  “I will not!”

  Emma’s lungs emptied in a painful rush as her abdomen collided with his powerful shoulder. Finding herself upside down, and gasping for air, she kicked and flailed but the man was as unmovable as a mountain. “Take your filthy hands off me,” she railed. Her ears roared as his hand connected with her all too vulnerable backside. How dare he strike her! “I will kill you for that!” she screamed.

  Another connecting sting of his large palm followed.

  “Do you yield?” he asked, ignoring her threat.

  “Never!”

  Shrieking and squirming, she continued to struggle but now fought not only her captor, but the weight of the chain mail as the hauberk began sliding down her torso to pool its full bulk under her arms. Panting from her futile exertions, she gave up the struggle. Extending her arms outward, she tucked her head and wriggled her shoulders to free herself of the hauberk. “I did as you demanded,” she huffed as the mail shirt fell to the floor. “Now put me down!”

  With a mocking laugh, the contemptible bastard squeezed her burning buttocks before setting her back on her feet. Emma scrambled backward, but dizziness overtook her. She landed on the hard stone.

  He stood over her, looking satisfied with thumbs once more hooked in his belt. “Will you swear fealty? Do you now submit to me as your lord?”

  She glared up at him with all the venom she could muster. She’d never been so humiliated. “Never! I will never acknowledge you as anything more than the savage you have proven yourself to be.”

  “You have no conception of savagery. I have seen horrors you could never even imagine. By comparison, I have shown you nothing but forbearance and restraint.”

  “You beat me and dare to call it restraint?”

  He rocked back on his heels with a roar of laughter. “Beat you? I merely warmed your backside, which is no more than your sire should have done long ago.” He pulled her to her feet. “If you please me, I will treat you as a queen, but if you continue your insolence I will be forced to make an example of you.”

  She swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat. “What do you mean by example?” Her mind was already racing with wild visions of Viking barbarism.

  “We Norse have many creative punishments. I cannot make you a slave, but I can keep you prisoner. Mayhap it would amuse me to keep you in a cage.”

  “A cage? Like a wild animal?” Her blood froze. Would he really carry out such a heinous threat?

  “Aye,” he answered her unspoken question. “I could even hang you on the top of this keep where the eagles nest and let the eaglets pick at your flesh. More loathsome to thee than the light-hued snake to men, shall you become. So fearful to see, that all will marvel at thy hideousness.”

  The threat struck pure terror in her heart. Was he really so cruel?

  “Perhaps warming my bed is not such a horrible prospect after all?” he suggested softly. Norsemen were known for their brutality, but the crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes and the twitch on one side of his mouth gave her pause. Was he still secretly laughing at her? Emma’s throat tightened as his calloused, blood-covered hands anchored on her shoulders. “Give yourself to me freely and you will have no cause for complaint.”

  She focused on his hands rather than his words. “You’ve stained my best tunic,” she remarked with disgust.

  He cocked a brow mockingly. “My bloody appearance offends you?”

  “Everything about you offends me,” she answered with a curl of her lip. “You’re filthy and you stink. I would rather bed in the pigsty.”

  He shrugged. “Your wish is easily granted, but I’ll give you time to reconsider. Just know this, Lady Emma, I make my offer only once, so think carefully before you answer.”

  ***

  Ivar’s gaze followed Emma as she stormed from the chamber, escorted by two of his men. Damn her for scorning him! He’d hoped to avoid heavy-handed measures, but all of his attempts to reason with her had failed. One way or another, he vowed to teach her respect. If he could not win her goodwill, he would bend her by any means—fair or foul.

  Knowing she wouldn’t recognize the Norse tale, he’d fed her fear with by stealing from the story of Freyr and the giantess. When he’d mentioned the cage, his fearless Valkyrie suddenly had the look of a frightened sheep. Her horrified expression and sudden pallor of her face told him that she believed him capable of any atrocity. He’d fought hard to suppress his laughter. She must truly think him a fiend, but if that’s what it took, so be it. He wouldn’t physically force her capitulation, but would let her stew in the uncertainty of her fate. By morning, he was certain she’d have a change of heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FOR THE SECOND TIME in a fortnight, Emma found herself locked in her rooms with only Havoise attending to her. How long did he intend to keep her prisoner? Beyond confining her, the Norseman had revealed nothing. She knew from Havoise that his brother still lived, but whether he recovered or died from his wounds, she cared not. She only hoped his injuries would keep the heathen occupied.

  Had Count Ebles received word that they were under siege? Why had he not come? Had something befallen the messenger? Even if he was unaware of the Norse attack, he would be coming to wed her in a matter of days. Once he learned of the circumstances, would he confront her captor? Would he pay a ransom or would he fight? She knew far too little of the man even to guess. Her hope of rescue was diminishing daily.

  With so many uncertainties, she refused to put all of her faith in Count Ebles. She must try to escape. But escape would be far easier if she at least had access to the bailey. How could she gain her freedom without losing what little she still held dear—her dignity and self-respect?

  She startled at the rattling of the latch. Was it Havoise with her supper? To her dismay, it was the treacherous duchess rather than her trusted servant who entered. Emma turned her wrath upon Adèle the moment she closed the door.

  “So it’s the traitor who came knocking at my gate?”

  “I did not betray you,” Adèle contested calmly. “In truth, I probably saved your life.”

  “I would rather be dead than locked up like a prisoner in my own home,” Emma retorted.

  “I said the same thing until I was pressed to choose,” Adèle replied. “But when the decision was forced upon me, I chose to live.”

  “By bedding the enemy?” Emma spun to point an accusing finger. “You chose to become a Viking’s whore!”

  “I am no man’s whore,” she protested. “I was and still am the Duchess of Vannes. Rudalt w
as killed in a duel that he chose to fight. His bloated pride led him to wager everything and he lost. By wedding the Norseman, I have maintained my position and saved my people.”

  “Saved them?” Emma scoffed. “By selling them into bondage?”

  “We are not enslaved,” Adèle insisted. “We have made peace with the Norse. As you should do.”

  “Why would you do it? How can you support these godless brutes?”

  “I was wed to far worse,” Adèle responded with a bitter laugh. “But you did not know Rudalt as I did.”

  Emma had to concede her point. What little she did know of Duke Rudalt was less than savory. Her father had loathed and despised him. Had he not been plotting to usurp Rudalt in order to save Brittany from this very threat of invasion?

  “With Rudalt dead, we had no defense against them,” Adèle continued. “I chose what I thought was best for Brittany. Am I a traitor for not sacrificing the lives of my people?” the duchess asked. “For negotiating instead of allowing them to be taken into bondage?”

  “Negotiation?” Emma responded with a scornful laugh. “Is that what you call it? You tricked me!” Emma cried, fighting back tears of fury. How could Adèle have betrayed her when they’d known each other most of their lives? “I thought you sought sanctuary. I never would have opened the gates to them had you not come.”

  “Are you saying you would have allowed them to set all of Quimper aflame rather than making peace? That you would value your own pride above the lives of your people?”

  “There is nothing you can say to convince me to give up my homeland to our mortal enemy,” Emma replied.

  “Please consider the facts, Emma. These men are hardened warriors who came to conquer. They would not have left the keep standing. When you ran out of arrows and food, who would have come to your aid? Half of your men fled. Many are dead. Your father was slain. Who is left to fight for us?”

  Emma almost spoke up about Count Ebles, but chose to hold her tongue for fear the duchess might betray her to the Vikings.

  “There is only my brother,” Adèle continued, “but he is weak and will not dare raise a sword against them. Make peace with them now or surely you will all suffer. If you would only make an outward show of cooperation with Ivar, you could make your circumstances more tolerable.“

  “Cooperate? Don’t you understand what he wants? He expects me to become his whore!”

  Adèle’s brow furrowed. “Is that what he said?”

  “He first thought to ransom me but when I told him there was no one willing to pay for me, he insinuated he would keep me as a concubine.” Emma shuddered at the thought of sacrificing both her chastity and her self- respect to that filthy pagan.

  “He is a proud man, Emma, and your defiance of him has bruised that pride. No one, except his brother, supersedes his authority. To save face with his men, it is now impossible for him to deal gently with you.”

  “You waste your breath,” Emma replied. “I will never willingly concede to him.”

  “I don’t see that you have any choice.”

  “What if I choose to fight?” Emma asked. “Would you betray me?”

  “No, Emma. I swear before God I would not, but where will you find an army? You said your brother will not fight.”

  “Before his death, my father made an alliance with Count Ebles of Poitou. He betrothed me to wed him which would also bind him to protect me.”

  “You think he will come?” Adèle asked.

  “I don’t know. I have waited in hope, but if he does not, I must find a way to escape and go to him. Would you join me?” Emma asked.

  “No.” Adèle shook her blonde head. “I already made my choice. As long as Valdrik keeps his word to me, I also must also uphold my vows to him. Speaking of which, I must tend to him.”

  Emma scowled. “He is here? In my home?”

  “Yes. In the count’s chambers. He is gravely wounded.

  “Why would you help him? Why don’t you just let him die?”

  “Why? Because I fear what would befall us without him. Valdrik is a fair man, Emma. Although he was harsh at first, he has been honest with me. He has also shown strength, intelligence, and character. I never would have wished this upon us, but Valdrik seems to be a far better man and would be a far better duke than Rudalt ever was. As long as he has the strength to hold what he has taken, we can continue to live peacefully and prosperously under his rule. It is only if he fails to hold Brittany that we will suffer. You know as well as I that the Franks are no better than hungry dogs waiting to fight over the scraps. Despise him if you must, Emma, but Brittany could do far worse.”

  “And if he dies? What then?” Emma asked.

  Adèle’s expression grew solemn. Had she developed tender feelings for that barbarian? “I don’t know. I suppose our fate would fall to his brothers.”

  “To Ivar, the beast who presumes to take Cornouailles from me?” The redheaded behemoth who had ruthlessly man-handled her. She’d never felt so powerless against anyone. She despised him as much for that as any other of his multifarious sins.

  “He already has and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. Please, Emma,” Adèle appealed, “for your own sake as well as that of your people, make peace with him.”

  “I cannot,” Emma replied as tears burned her eyes. “Quimper is my home. This is who I am and all I have. Can’t you understand that?”

  “I do, Emma. I also fear what this decision might cost you in the end, but you must follow your own heart as I have followed mine.” Shaking her head in resignation, Adèle turned toward the door.

  “Wait,” Emma called out just as Adèle’s hand touched the latch. “I must know what has happened to our dead. Have they been buried or just left to rot?”

  Strangely, she had yet to even shed a tear for her father. In truth, she felt almost devoid of emotion. It was if the past days were just a very bad dream that she had yet to awaken from. But she had to awaken. She had to find a way to overcome this travesty.

  Adèle turned back to face her. “All of the bodies have been gathered to be burned. It is Norse custom.”

  “But it is not Christian custom,” Emma protested. “Is this how it is to be under them? Are our ways to be thoughtlessly discarded and our beliefs suppressed?”

  “I don’t think that is the intent, Emma, but I cannot answer for him. Perhaps you should ask him yourself. Surely any reasonable man would honor your wish to lay your father to rest.”

  “But that’s the question, isn’t it?” Emma answered with a bitter laugh. “Is he a reasonable man? Or a devil in disguise?”

  ***

  Ivar was dead on his feet, but still worried for his brother. Although it was beyond his power to do anything more for Valdrik, Ivar still spent the night in wakeful vigilance. With Valdrik still in peril, he had much on his shoulders—far more responsibility than he had ever wanted.

  Dozens of men, both Breton and Norse, were dead or wounded. Managing both required his attention—the living needed to be tended and the dead laid to rest. The remainder of their forces needed to be kept under strict discipline.

  While he knew he could depend on Bjorn, who was loyal to a fault, Bjorn had returned to Vannes—leaving everything else to Ivar. Although they had prevailed in battle, without Valdrik, he feared the dream of conquering Brittany would soon crumble to dust. He wasn’t normally a man to fret about tomorrow. He’d never before cared what lay beyond the present, but all that had changed the moment Valdrik had been stricken down. Now Valdrik’s fate lay in the hands of the gods.

  What if it fell to him to fill Valdrik’s shoes? Ivar excelled in combat, but political machinations and domestic matters were a complete mystery to him. He was born to be a warrior, not an overlord. And he was far from certain that this was what he wanted for himself. He’d come to Brittany in support of his brother’s dream, never imagining being in this position. For the first time in his life, he felt unequal to the task.

  “I need you,
brother,” he said, kneeling by Valdrik’s side, hoping in vain for a response. “This was your destiny, not mine.” He was still on his knees when the duchess entered. Embarrassed to have been caught in a vulnerable moment, he rose quickly to his feet. “What do you want?” he snapped.

  “I came with willow bark tea to treat the fever,” she replied. “Is there any change?”

  “None,” he answered tersely. “He’s still delirious, but sleeps at the moment.”

  “You should also rest,” she said with a look of concern. “I will sit with him.”

  “I don’t trust you,” he replied. He still refused to leave her alone at his brother’s sickbed.

  “It seems trust is in short supply these days.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled. His men trusted him implicitly.

  “Because of your treachery, Emma thinks I betrayed her.”

  “My treachery?” Ivar scoffed. “You proved at Vannes that treachery is your specialty. What have I done to earn her mistrust? ‘Twas she, not I, who first pulled the knife. I reacted accordingly.”

  “You entered this keep under false pretenses,” she accused. “Then, after seizing her home, you locked her up. Do you suppose that might have something to do with her resentment?”

  He muttered a litany of curses. Had he not treated her mercifully? And with all of the regard due her station? Her home was relatively intact and all who had surrendered peacefully were unharmed. It had taken threats of dire punishment to keep his men in check, but he’d done so in order to foster her goodwill—not that Lady Emma had recognized his efforts. It seemed his mercy and forbearance had gotten him nowhere. She continued to flaunt her contempt of him.

  “Doesn’t she realize I could have done far worse?”

  “Please try to understand that Emma has had a great deal of freedom. Her father was often away, leaving her to act as castellan of this keep. For years, she was left much to her own devices and is unaccustomed to answering to anyone. You can’t order her about like you do your men and expect her blind obedience.”