Ivar The Red

by Victoria Vane

  She looked back to Valdrik. “She will not be punished?”

  Valdrik glanced at Ivar. “I can’t promise you that. Since he is bent on retrieving her, I can only presume that my brother has decided to wed her. It seems to me this will be punishment in itself.”

  “The day of reckoning we discussed grows nearer, brother,” Ivar threatened.

  “Is it true? You wish to marry, Emma?” The duchess eyed both brothers with puzzlement.“Aye,” Ivar confessed with a scowl. “Now tell me where she has gone.”

  “I believe she went south to Poitou to seek aid from Count Ebles… her betrothed.”

  “Her betrothed?”

  “Her father recently arranged a match with Count Ebles,” she explained.

  “She lied to me!” Ivar declared.

  “She did what she thought best under the circumstances,” Adele defended. “Would you not do the same?”

  Ivar was too incensed to answer. He was not only furious that Emma had lied to him that there was no one to pay a ransom for her, but enraged beyond reason that another man had a claim to her. She’d made a complete fool of him.

  He left his brother’s chambers and entered the bailey roaring to the guard to open the gate, flung himself onto the waiting horse, and dug his heels into its sides. Clattering over the bridge toward the gate, he crouched low over the animal’s neck, barely clearing it without taking off his own head.

  ***

  For the first time in her life, Emma was grateful for her unusual stature. Donning the priest cowl which hid her face, she and Gurwent slipped from the chapel without suspicion. After placing her father in his tomb, the priest had informed her guard that she would remain in the chapel alone for three hours of private prayer. As promised, Budic had horses and provisions at the ready.

  Her escape from Quimper was both terrifying and exhilarating. She didn’t think the Vikings would let her get away without pursuit, but three hours had given her an excellent head start. She was also thankful to have her servant as her guide and protector. Had she been alone, she might well have become lost. She’d only been outside of Cornouailles but four times in her entire life, and never outside of Brittany.

  The first time she’d travelled was when her father had wed his second wife. It was on this occasion, that Emma had first met Adèle who was living with the king and queen as a foster daughter. Close in age, they’d become instant friends—until Adèle had married Duke Rudalt. Her second time away from Quimper was to the county of Poher, for the marriage celebration of Duke Rudalt’s younger sister, Gwened, to Adèle’s younger brother, Mateudoi.

  The last time she’d visited Vannes, she and her father had gone to pay their respects upon Kind Alain’s death, and her father had sworn begrudging fealty to Duke Rudalt. It was then that she’d first met Count Ebles. She remembered cringing when the count had gazed up at her with a lecherous smile displaying his decaying teeth. Her father had later punished her for rudeness.

  What kind of greeting awaited her in Poitou? Surely this time when the count greeted her with his sickening smile, Emma would force herself to smile back. The vision made her shudder with revulsion. She reminded herself that her sacrifice was necessary to save Quimper from the pagan invaders.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t help comparing the man who would soon be her husband to the Norseman. Though Ivar was rough, filled with self-conceit, crude, and ill-mannered, she had to concede that he was a far superior specimen of manhood than Count Ebles.

  When she’d first encountered the red-headed Viking in the great hall, covered in blood and filth, he was everything she’d expected and despised, but his actions had taken her completely by surprise. He had not come to rape and pillage and had kept his men in tight check. In the aftermath of the siege, she’d seen no evidence, nor heard any reports of rape or torture. Moreover, the Vikings had been quick to repair the damage of war.

  And then had come the revelation that his mother was a Breton. Emma still hadn’t quite come to grips with that knowledge. Who was the young girl who was so cruelly taken from her home to a savage land and placed into bondage? Did he also wonder about his family history? Had any of them survived? Was his personal history part of his motive for invading? Given his connection to the land, she wondered what kind of ruler he might be. For the very first time, she questioned her decision to leave Quimper. Why was she having these thoughts?

  Part of her knew the answer—the kiss. Emma had no experience of passion. It was as foreign to her as his pagan ways, but he’d awakened in her a deep yearning to know the secrets of the flesh. She also knew she would never feel the same kind of desire, or any desire at all, for Count Ebles. Nevertheless, the die was cast. There was no turning back now.

  Budic suddenly signaled her to pull up. “The horses need rest, milady.”

  “We can’t afford to stop, Budic. Too much weighs on our success.”

  “If we press on, we’ll surely kill the horses,” he warned.

  Though her mount’s flanks were heaving from exhaustion, Emma chewed her lip in uncertainty. “Do you think we’ve put enough distance between us? I’m certain they’ll pursue us.”

  “There’s no way to know, my lady.” He frowned up at the gray and pink tinged sky. “But we’re also losing daylight. We can’t venture much further once darkness sets in. Mayhap we should find shelter? We are still on your father’s lands. Surely you can rely on the loyalty of your tenants.”

  “No, Budic,” she said. “I don’t dare take the chance. We must press southward for as long as we are able. Let us rest the horses for a short time and then ride on.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Budic replied with a shake of his head. He then dismounted from his sweat-lathered horse.

  Emma followed suit, throwing her leg over the pommel with a groan. She was so exhausted in both mind and body that her legs almost gave way as her feet hit the ground.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” Budic rushed to her side.

  “’Tis nothing.” She brushed away his concern with a wave. “I am just unaccustomed to such riding.”

  “As am I,” Budic confessed, grimacing and rubbing his backside. “I’ll tend the horses if ye’d like to take some victuals and a short rest.”

  “No fires,” Emma said, pulling her woolen mantle more tightly around her. The temperature was dropping and the clouds had darkened. “Let us hope we are blessed by a clear night with a bright moon.”

  As Emma walked out the cramps in her legs, she cast her gaze heavenward in a silent prayer that it would not rain. Shortly after her petition to the Blessed Virgin, a thunderclap sounded.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTER TWO DAYS OF RIDING in icy rain, Emma was numb from the chill that reached deep into her bones. They had long ago slowed their pace to a walk, but she had stubbornly refused to take shelter. She hunched into her woolen mantle but there was no warmth to be found within its sodden folds. She wondered if it was now too late. Would she ever know warmth and comfort again?

  While Emma considered herself a strong woman, she’d never suffered such a trial before, had never been tested by the elements. The men who pursued her, however, were seasoned warriors whose bodies were hardened to such conditions. She’d vowed to press onward but her body now racked with shivers of such violence that she could barely sit the horse. She desperately yearned for the welcoming heat of a fire and the comfort of her own bed.

  Shutting her eyes, Emma crouched lower over her horse’s neck, seeking the heat from its steaming body. She was so desperately tired. And hungry. And cold.

  “My lady?” Her eyelids barely fluttered at the concern in Budic’s voice. “C-cold. So v-very c-cold,” she murmured back before closing them again and slipping into the welcome darkness.

  ***

  Hard riding in miserable icy rain, quickly transformed Ivar’s fiery fury into stone cold resolution. He was done with her this time. He told himself he’d never wanted a wife, anyway. Let alone, one that would surely drive him to
drink. He caught up with his men Lars and Anders by midday. They both wore worried looks as he found them resting by a stream. As they should. Why had they not found her yet?

  Ivar dismounted and led his horse to drink. “Is there any sign?”

  “We’ve been following the tracks of two riders since yesterday,” Lars answered.

  “But you didn’t find them.” Ivar eyed the men critically.

  “Not yet,” Lars replied. “When it became too dark to follow the trail we made camp.”

  “Did they also make camp?” Ivar asked.

  Anders shifted nervously. “We saw no evidence of it. If they did, they were well hidden.”

  Ivar broadened his stance and pinned them with a lethal stare. “So you made camp while the woman continued without rest.”

  Both men shifted and flushed with the shame he’d intended to evoke. He knew he was being unreasonable. The torrential rains that had slowed his progress had finally weakened to drizzle, but the fog that now enshrouded the land, made tracking all but impossible. Nevertheless, he had half a mind to cleave their heads from their shoulders.

  “Mount up!” he commanded. “We will acquire fresh horses wherever they are to be had and we will catch her before she reaches Poitou.”

  Part of him had a mind to just let her go, but that would be to admit defeat. She had once more made a fool of him. He vowed that it would be the last time.

  Hours later, he came upon Emma’s servant who had managed to construct a crude shelter and was now trying ineffectually to build a fire. The man startled at the approaching horses, his eyes widened at the moment of recognition, but he made no attempt to flee. Instead, his shoulders sagged in a gesture of surrender.

  He threw himself to his knees as Ivar dismounted. “Please, milord. I fear my lady’s life is in peril. I can do nothing for her. You must help her.”

  Ivar’s gaze tracked to the limp form lying on the ground by a barely smoking stack of tinder and his chest constricted. Pale-faced and blue-lipped, his valiant Valkyrie indeed had the look of a corpse.

  Flinging his bridle reins to Lars, Ivar lunged toward her and scooped her into his arms. Although unconscious, she was still breathing. Thank the gods! But the cold and damp had taken a heavy toll on her. Stubborn little fool!

  They were barely two days’ ride from Poitou, which meant there should be tenant farmers close by, but he didn’t dare take the risk of putting her on his horse. She was already too far gone. Her life was in danger if she didn’t immediately get warm and dry. He had to make do with what he had. He wrapped her tightly in his fur mantle, already knowing it was insufficient. She would never get warm as long as she was wet.

  “Anders,” Ivar bellowed as he stripped off his fur mantle and wrapped it around her. “Build me a decent fire.”

  “Aye.” Anders tied the horses and set immediately to work.

  “Lars! Ride out and find a proper shelter for her,” Ivar commanded. “I don’t care if you have to evict starving cottagers for it.”

  “Aye,” Lars nodded.

  “And you,” Ivar addressed Emma’s servant. “What the devil is your name anyway?”

  “Budic, milord. Me and the wife have served the lady since she was a girl.”

  “You will be of no further use to her if you are dead. You will ride with Lars. I expect all to be prepared for her once she is able to travel again.”

  His bloodshot eyes widened in panic. “I cannot leave her alone, milord!”

  “She is not alone, and you will do as I say.” Ivar speared him with a look that quelled any further protest.

  “As you say, milord.”

  The old man was so weak that Lars had to assist him onto his mount, and the horse looked in almost as poor shape as its rider. Ivar wondered if either man or beast would survive the journey, but they were not his concern. No. He focused all of his concern and physical resources solely on Emma. Having grown up in Northern climes, he’d seen men fall prey to the elements countless times. When fire was scarce, there was only one solution—body heat.

  Retrieving an oilskin from his saddle bag, he laid it out on the ground and then covered it with another fur taken from Anders. Lying her on the makeshift bed, Ivar grit his teeth as he began stripping her of her sodden garments. Her skin was as pale and smooth as alabaster—and just as cold to the touch. He’d fantasized about her beautiful naked body so many times that it took all of his will to stay focused on his business. Ignoring the lush hills and valleys of her body, he removed her robe and tunic and tossed the wet garments to Anders with an order to hang them over the fire.

  He quickly cocooned her in bearskin and began stripping off his own tunic and shirt. His leather breeches followed, but he hesitated when he got to his short braies. Removing all of his clothes would ensure his night of torture would be complete. It had been far too long since he’d had a woman.

  He honestly didn’t trust himself. Opting to keep at least that barrier between them, he crawled into the narrow bed of furs with her, but his fears of becoming aroused were immediately laid to rest. She remained completely unaware of him, and as cold and insensible as a statue, the shallow rise and fall of her chest the only sign of life.

  His pulse raced in fear that he had found her too late. Desperate to warm her, Ivar rolled himself completely on top of her, skin-to-skin, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, willing her to live and wishing fervently that he could do more. Ivar offered up a prayer to the gods to save her. He would gladly bargain his own life in exchange for hers. The strength of his emotions took him aback. Was it just a desire to protect a weaker being or did it go much deeper?

  As he gazed down at her face, so deathly pale and beautiful, the tightening of his chest told him it was indeed much more. He would do anything in this moment to save her, and he would give everything he owned to make her his.

  He hadn’t expected any of this when he’d set out to retrieve her but something had changed. He had changed—and there was no turning back.

  ***

  Emma dreamt that she was back at Quimper lying in a luxurious bed of furs beside a blazing fire. After nearly freezing to death, she was safe and secure and surrounded by precious warmth that she never thought she would feel again. But there was more, a strange heaviness covering her—a living, breathing blanket. Floundering in a fog of confusion, Emma slowly opened her eyes.

  “Ah. You are awake at last.” It was him, gazing down at her with a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth.

  Emma sucked in a gasp. Where was she? And how did she come to be here? She remembered nothing! At first her mind refused to acknowledge the impossible. But it was real. He was real. She almost laughed at the irony of awakening safe and secure in her mortal enemy’s arms. Her heart raced as her gaze darted around in disoriented panic. Her next impulse was flight.

  “Get off me, you rutting animal!” Emma shoved against him in vain.

  His massive weight held her fast.

  “You are a fickle one.” His hint of a grin stretched into a full mocking smile. “Only hours ago, you were clinging to me.”

  “Only for warmth,” she protested.

  “Come now, Emma,” he cajoled. “There is no point in fighting. It is past time for a truce between us.”

  “A truce?”

  “Aye,” he said. Still caging her with his body, he rose up onto his elbows, allowing her to take a full breath. “I have not violated you, if that’s what you fear.” He sat up with a mild twitch of his mouth. “I prefer my women to be conscious.”

  And she was suddenly conscious of many things. The first of which was her lack of clothes. Acute awareness of his very large, very warm, very naked body followed. Her gaze involuntarily tracked down the thick column of his neck to his powerful shoulders, flexing pectoral muscles and torso lightly dusted with coarse ginger colored hair. She licked her lips. No living woman could fail to appreciate his physical form—and she had indeed come back to life after he had used his own body to warm her. The awareness that he’d s
aved her life confused her, as did the heat pooling between her thighs. She recognized her desire but couldn’t reconcile it with her confused emotions.

  “Where am I?” she asked, clutching for the furs to cover her nakedness from his roving, sea green eyes.

  “We are about two days’ ride from Poitou,” he replied. “I credit your stamina, Lady Emma. You led quite a chase.”

  “Where is Budic?” she asked. Knowing her servant would never have allowed any man to touch her, she feared the worst. “Have you killed him?”

  “No. I did not kill him,” he replied. “I sent him with my man Lars to find shelter.”

  She exhaled in relief. She never could have lived with herself if she’d caused his death. “What happened?” she asked. “I don’t remember anything.”

  His brows furrowed. “Should I begin with your betrayal of my trust? I have dealt fairly with you, Emma, and you betrayed my faith in your honor with lies and deceit.”

  “You expect truth from me when you seized my home and imprisoned me?” she replied with a snort.

  “You were imprisoned by your own choosing,” he reminded her.

  “What choice?” she scoffed. “You coerced me by taking my freedom and then demanded payment in flesh.”

  “I demanded nothing. I merely offered you a means of payment. Just as Valdrik bought my freedom, someone must pay for yours. Which brings us to the next deception. You told me there was no one to pay your ransom. You lied.”

  “I didn’t want you to know,” she said. “I thought my betrothed would come with an army to rescue me. When he didn’t, I planned my escape.”

  His gaze narrowed. “To the very man who would not fight for you?” He exhaled a snort of contempt. “Why would any woman desire such a spineless husband?”

  “I never said I desired him,” she argued. “My father arranged the marriage and the betrothal contract binds him to protect me.”

  “If you believe this, why did you leave Quimper?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and whispered. “Because he didn’t come.”