WILD VIKING PRINCESS
FitzRam Family~Book III
by
Anna Markland
Kindle Version
ISBN 978-0-9879722-8-6
What Readers Are Saying
"5 stars and two thumbs up to "Wild Viking Princess", the third book in The FitzRam Family series. Rich well developed characters including Ragna FitzRam, daughter of Caedmon. Anna writes an incredible story weaving plotlines and settings so real you feel as though you could be there. I just loved this book, I think you will too." Lois Lavrisa, bestselling author, LIQUID LIES.
“The story line was great. I loved how the author brought the two different customs together and that they could adapt to each other’s ways. Also she kept the passion going between them. I love that about Markland’s books.” Nancy Burt
“A good interesting read...kept me reading and moved along quickly through the story.”
Karen Heinrichs
A note to my readers—
Wild Viking Princess is the third book in the series entitled The FitzRam Family. These stories grew out of The Montbryce Legacy Series. If you have read the Legacy books you will be familiar with many of the characters in this book. If not, you will enjoy meeting them for the first time. This is the story of Ragna FitzRam, daughter of Caedmon and Agneta (A Man of Value), sister to Blythe (Carried Away), and Aidan (Sweet Taste of Love). There’s a helpful Family Tree at the end, but don’t sneak a peek yet!
Also at the end is a glossary of names and places, followed by a lexicon of foreign words and phrases used in my books.
I hope you come to love my characters as much as I do!
Cover Art by Steven Novak
Start Reading
Dedication
Other Books by Anna
Contact Information
Glossary
Lexicon
Family Tree
Copyright Information
“Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed.
Maybe they just need to run free
till they find someone just as wild to run with them.”
~Sex and the City
Dedicated to Vikings and their descendants
PROLOGUE
Strand Island, Denmark,
February, 1124 AD
Reider Torfinnsen swayed on unsteady legs, gaping in disbelief. He clutched a half-empty tankard, his innards twisted in knots. His father lay dead at his feet, Gorm’s dagger in his back. Torfinn was dead before his body slumped to the wooden floor, but he had not uttered a sound. The simple gold circlet, symbol of his kingship, had slipped from his head to clatter against the boards.
Reider had imbibed too much ale, but this was supposed to be his betrothal feast—a man about to wed was expected to get drunk. Belatedly, he thought to save Margit from whatever further treachery his step-brother planned. He dropped the tankard, spilling its contents, and reached for his dagger. It was wrenched away and strong arms forced him to grovel before his father’s body. A knee pressed heavily into his back.
A voice dripping sarcasm penetrated his pounding head. “Now a real man will rule here, and I will be his consort.”
Reider looked up, narrowing his bleary eyes. Margit? He blinked, not believing the sight before him. Why was his betrothed’s arm draped over Gorm’s shoulder, her breasts rubbing against him? Gorm sneered triumphantly, tightening his grip around Margit’s waist. They shared a brazen kiss, then the usurper bent to retrieve his dagger. He turned Torfinn’s body over with his booted foot, picked up the crown and grimaced when it proved to be too big.
Reider dared not look at his father’s beloved face, now contorted in a grimace of shock. He swallowed the bitter truth that the assassins had planned carefully. He wasn’t the only one well into his cups. His father’s entire royal guard lay dead around him. The stench of blood filled Reider’s nostrils. Armed thugs—he recognized them as his step-brother’s cronies—had herded the loyal subjects of Strand against the wall of the Great Hall. Few had brought weapons to the festivities and those who were armed had been quickly disarmed. Women sobbed quietly in the protecting embrace of their husbands, men whose scowling faces betrayed their outrage and powerlessness.
Sobering quickly, Reider struggled to be free of Gorm’s henchmen. Words stuck in his throat, so great was his heartbroken rage. “He was your father, Gorm. He loved you.”
Gorm smirked, the crown of Strand perched askew atop his head, and spat out a chewed fingernail. “He was my step father. You are the son he loved. Now I will have what was to be yours. Get him out of my Hall.”
They dragged Reider out into the frigid night and along the beach. The crunch of boots on pebbles sounded his death knell. He felt the cold bite of a dagger at his throat and swallowed hard, waiting for the end. He would not cry out. For his father’s sake he would die well.
Suddenly there was a scuffle. He vaguely heard voices barking urgent commands. His captors slumped to the ground beside him with a grunt. Strong arms hooked his armpits, and he was half carried, half dragged, unable to make his legs work. The wet warmth trickling down his thighs was strangely comforting. He must still be alive if he had pissed himself. Hurled into a longboat, he hit his head on the decking and succumbed to oblivion.
~~~
He came to his senses at dawn, braced against the crosswale. A blanket covered him, but the wool smelled damp and the wind bit into his flesh like a whetted knife. He peered over the side. There was no sign of land.
His friend and comrade, Kjartan Eldarsen, stood at the tiller, his tight jaw and tense stance confirming that the grizzly events of the night before had been real. Reider put his hand to his neck. It had been bound with linen, but his body stank of urine and the sweat of fear. A thirst for revenge welled up in his throat. He quickly closed his eyes and leaned over the side to retch, pressing a hand to the binding.
Kjartan beckoned another shipmate to take the tiller, then strode over to Reider, bracing his legs to the movement of the boat. He put his hand on Reider’s back. “Retching won’t help your wound. Not like a master mariner to be seasick.”
Reider wiped his mouth and looked up at his friend. Kjartan’s gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement and Reider smiled ruefully. He opened his mouth to agree, but no sound came out. Kjartan frowned as Reider struggled to speak, his heart racing. His friend again put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. They intended to cut your throat. Rest your voice. It will return.”
Reider came to his feet on shaky legs, hugging the blanket around his shoulders against the biting wind. He touched his pounding head and winced when he discovered a goose egg over his eyebrow. As if the hangover wasn’t enough! Grief and anger clouded his thoughts and made him dizzy. He clutched the side of the boat. Though he stood beside Kjartan, if he’d had a voice, he would have been obliged to shout over the wind and the snap of the full sail. His thoughts were in turmoil.
Gorm’s treachery against a man who loved him like his own son cut deep, but Margit’s actions were unfathomable. If she had married him, the rightful heir, she would have ruled anyway, in time. He had been content for his father’s sake to agree to the arranged marriage with the chieftain’s daughter from Heide. She had hidden her cunning nature well.
Kjartan shrugged one shoulder, his face sour. He divined his friend’s thoughts. “I’ve often said women are not to be trusted.”
Reider shook his head, embarrassed to admit to his confirmed bachelor friend that he had fancied Margit in love with him. All the while she had thirsted for Gorm!
He would swear of
f women and ply the trade routes with Kjartan. Never marrying would mean no heirs, but what did it matter now Gorm had stolen the peaceful island principality off the Danish coast?
Nej! He could not turn his back. He must avenge his father’s death and regain his birthright.
Kjartan’s voice broke into his thoughts. “We head for Husembro. We can hide in the cove. It will give us time to plan.”
Reider felt guilty he had lain in a stupor while his friend and ally effected their escape. He mouthed a question. “Pursuit?”
Kjartan shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I made sure they couldn’t follow.”
Reider put his hand on his comrade’s shoulder, and drew him into his embrace. He wanted Kjartan to know how grateful he was.
His friend only nodded, but a loud cheer erupted from the crew. Reider turned to look at the men who had helped save his life. He thrust his fist into the air, struggling to yell a battle cry. Blood rushed to his head. His feet felt like lead weights. His belly churned. He prayed he would not retch again.
The men exchanged confused glances, then Kjartan led the rallying call. “For Strand,” he bellowed, raising his fist.
“For Strand,” the men echoed.
“For Torfinn!”
“For Torfinn!”
“For Prince Reider!”
“For our prince!”
Reider could only bow his head in acknowledgement, overwhelmed by their loyalty. Would he prove to be worthy of their trust and confidence? The future loomed full of dark uncertainty. The daunting task of ridding Strand of a cruel usurper was his, and he was poorly prepared. Why had he not taken his responsibilities more seriously? He had thought his father would live forever.
He and Kjartan stood together for a long while in silence as the boat skimmed the waves. Reider swore under his breath never to trust a woman again. Were it not for Kjartan and his men, he too would be sailing a stone ship to Valhalla.
CHAPTER ONE
Kirkthwaite Hall, Northumbria, England,
March 1124 A.D.
Ragna FitzRam stamped her foot, brandishing her sister’s letter under her brother’s nose. “I intend to go, Aidan, and you cannot stop me. Blythe thinks it’s a wonderful idea and is anxious for my visit. We haven’t seen each other since our parents’ deaths.”
Aidan tried vainly to interrupt Ragna’s tirade as she carried on. “It is our duty to deliver to Blythe the ceremonial dagger our mother wanted her to inherit.”
Aidan stopped pacing. It was a wonder that he had not worn a groove in the floor of the gallery after years of fruitless arguments with his stubborn younger sister. He took a deep breath. “That’s an excuse, Ragna.”
Another stamp of the foot. “No!”
Aidan held up his hand, hoping to silence her, though it was unlikely. “It is out of the question for you to undertake such a journey without either myself or Edwin accompanying you.”
Ragna snorted, her face red, blue eyes bulging. “But you will never go back to Saxony. You’re too busy administering the FitzRam estates—and making babies with Nolana.”
Aidan had always considered himself a patient man, but he pointed a warning finger. “You go too far, sister. Don’t forget it was you who urged me to sire children when you were trying to convince me to leave the monastery.”
Ragna ignored him, putting her hands on her hips. “Edwin is busy with Shelfhoc Hall. He won’t accompany me. I’ve equipped my own escort.”
Perhaps he had misheard? “What! Mercenaries?”
Ragna held up her hands, palms facing him, as if to ward off any further objections. “Everything is arranged. I don’t want to take protection away from Kirkthwaite. We will sail from Newcastle to Hamburg, and Dieter has arranged a Saxon escort from Hamburg to Wolfenberg.”
Evidently their brother-by-marriage was part of this scheme. Aidan took a step towards his sister, tempted to throttle her. “What?”
For the first time, some of the defiance left Ragna’s face. “I will not cross the Narrow Sea.”
Aidan held his tongue. Sailing from the south coast of England to Normandie would be too painful—it would open the still raw wound of their parents’ drowning four years before in the White Ship disaster. It was a painful truth. Distance had denied the sisters a chance to grieve together. He took a deep breath and put his arm around her shoulder. She remained stiff, refusing to yield. “Ragna—”
She pulled away. “Aidan, you think of me as a little girl, but I am a woman of three and twenty. I never intend to marry and I want to live my life my way. You and Nolana have little Ingram and Symon, and no doubt more children to come. I want to go to Blythe, give her the dagger. It’s what Mother would have wanted.”
Aidan could not recall ever winning an argument with her, and wasn’t likely to win this one. “I’ll consider it—if I’m assured you have a well armed escort.”
Ragna flew into his arms. “Thank you, Aidan. Don’t worry, I’ll return safely in a few months and resume my life as doting spinster aunt to your handsome children. And I’ll take Thor with me.”
Aidan might have known she would want to take the hound. Thor had been her constant companion since their uncle, Baudoin de Montbryce, had given her the alaunt gentil puppy three years ago. As he stroked her back, he had to admit that life at Kirkthwaite Hall did not offer Ragna much excitement. He was usually immersed in the day to day workings of their fledgling mead-making endeavour, and their two infant sons took up most of Nolana’s time.
Did he want his sister to stay at Kirkthwaite for his own soul? To keep her safe? To protect the FitzRam family from the possibility of another devastating loss?
He had to allow her to go, but what a waste it would be if his beautiful, spirited hellion of a sister never married. He chuckled inwardly. It would take a patient man to tame their Wild Viking Princess. Ragna chafed at the nickname, but it had stuck since childhood and suited her well. No one in the family looked or acted more like a descendant of Danes than Ragna, and none of her siblings had Ragna’s fair hair. Their Danish grandmother had died before any of them were born, but Aidan suspected Ragna looked exactly like the woman for whom she had been named.
CHAPTER TWO
Aidan accompanied Ragna to the Newcastle docks with an escort from Kirkthwaite Hall. He intended to interrogate the leader of the mercenaries she had hired, hoping to find a flaw in their credentials. He squared his shoulders and approached the young warrior. “Who recommended you to my sister?”
The man replied without hesitation. “The Earl of Ellesmere.”
Aidan looked at him in disbelief, feeling his face redden. “My uncle Baudoin?”
“Oui, milord.”
Aidan stole a glance at his sister, who had a look of innocent satisfaction on her face. The vixen had laid a trap for him! Why had he not had the foresight to ask how she had known of the mercenaries before they left home? He had forgotten how manipulative she could be.
He tried to find fault with the ship and its captain, but both garnered excellent references from anyone he consulted.
Reluctantly, he agreed to allow Ragna’s trunks to be loaded on to the cog. “Are you absolutely sure you want to make this journey?” he asked her. “I have a bad feeling.”
“You know I have to, Aidan. Don’t worry. Thor will protect me. You’re simply feeling protective of me. I will be back before you know I am gone. And Captain Philion’s men will see me safely to Hamburg. I will give Blythe your love.”
She waved an imperious hand towards the vessel. “What can happen aboard such a fine ship?”
He did not want to mention that the ship that had sunk four year before, taking their parents’ lives, had been a cog. In that instance, the captain’s drunkenness had been the main cause of the catastrophe. No reason to think the Nordique would meet the same fate as La Blanche Nef.
He pointed to their mother’s dagger tucked into a scabbard on her hip. “Wouldn’t it be safer to pack that in one of your trunks?”
/>
She patted the weapon. “No, I want to keep it with me. It will be my lucky talisman.”
He escorted her on board and inspected the tented area that had been set up especially for passengers. He checked the food supplies with the ship’s victualler. He inspected once again the weaponry and credentials of every one of the ten mercenaries. He went over every detail of the voyage with Philion, though he understood nothing of charts and tides.
Ragna became impatient. “Aidan, I am embarking on this voyage, no matter how much you try to delay it. I am the only passenger. Are you not yet reassured I will be safe?”
Aidan could not shake his foreboding, though he had to agree his sister seemed to have thought of everything. She had even disguised herself as a young man for greater safety.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I will never forgive myself if something happens to you.”
She covered his hands with hers. “Nothing will happen, Aidan. It’s only a three day voyage. You are being too cautious.”
Aidan shrugged. “One of us in the family has to be. It’s a characteristic you have never been known for, sister. I see nothing will dissuade you. Kiss me goodbye. Send us a message once you arrive.”
Ragna surprised him by hugging him tightly and kissing him on both cheeks. “Of course I will. Take good care of Nolana and your handsome sons while I am away. Keep those babies away from your bees.”
Despite his concerns, Aidan laughed. “I will. Believe me, I remember only too well what it feels like to be badly stung.”
The moment of shared laughter made him feel better. Ragna would be perfectly safe. He wished her Godspeed, then disembarked. He sat atop his horse, watching from the dock as the Nordique pulled away with its precious cargo. He raised his hand in a farewell salute, perturbed by the look of fearful apprehension on his sister’s face.
Wild Viking Princess (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 1
