Wild Viking Princess (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series)

by Anna Markland

  ~~~

  The wind-whipped sand stung Reider’s eyes as he struggled in the driving rain to replace the broken rope. They had been lucky. The majority of the moorings had held and they had not lost either longboat to the storm tide—yet.

  The elements raged with a wild fury the like of which he had never seen before, though he had lived his life on the sea. His heart had raced more than once with the gut-wrenching terror that came with being at the mercy of a turbulent sea, and shuddered for anyone caught in this storm. Its sudden intensity had taken everyone by surprise.

  His boats strained at their moorings, but he feared they would not remain undamaged, even in the shelter of their hidden cove. There was already wet sand in the hull of the one he had secured. Too much would sink it. The crew would start repairs at the first sign of a break in the weather. It was vital their boats always be ready.

  A voice came on the wind. “Reider!”

  He straightened his shoulders and peered into the darkness, icy rain pelting his face, his fingers numb. It was Kjartan. Perhaps his friend needed help with the other boat?

  Satisfied the newly secured ropes would hold, he rammed his hands back into his sealskin mittens and set off across the sodden sand to assist his comrade.

  Kjartan stood ready to greet him. “All secure here, let’s walk back together. This wind is enough to sweep a man away. I’ll hold on to you and you hold on to me!” He linked his arm playfully in Reider’s.

  They struggled up the beach to the lodge like two drunken fools. Kjartan grabbed the nape of Reider’s neck and squeezed. “Good to see a smile on your face, my friend, instead of your usual scowl.”

  Reider shrugged him off and stopped smiling. As they made their way to the lodge, he became lost in thoughts of treachery and vengeance, grieving for his father. He and Kjartan were soaked to the skin and panting hard when they ducked under the shelter of the low overhang in front of the wooden structure. Kjartan pulled off his sealskin hood and shook the rain from it. “What a storm!”

  Reider stooped to unlace his wet boots, but Kjartan grasped his arm. “What’s that? Out there.” He pointed out to sea.

  Reider squinted. The moon’s glow had transformed the driving rain to an impenetrable screen of silver. He shook his head.

  Kjartan pointed again. “There. See. In the waves.”

  Reider still saw nothing, but Kjartan was known to have exceptional eyesight, so he peered again.

  Af Odin! It’s a ship. Surely Gorm would not pursue us in this storm? He’d have to be mad.

  He indicated he had seen the ship.

  Kjartan shoved his hood back on. “It’s not a Danish ship.”

  The vessel was barely visible. How could Kjartan tell what kind of ship it was? The man had the eyes of an eagle.

  Kjartan stepped away from the overhang and called to Reider over his shoulder. “Get the men. Whoever is out there won’t survive this storm if we don’t help them. They are trying to make it to the shelter of our cove.”

  Mindful of the unwritten law that men of the sea go without pause to the aid of those in peril on the waves, Reider strode into the lodge, grabbed the metal rod suspended from the tocsin by a strip of leather, and struck the triangular alarm repeatedly.

  The men sprang to their feet, and within minutes had donned their foul weather gear. They followed Reider to the cove. Kjartan stood at the tiller. “Untie the moorings,” he yelled. “We’ll take this boat out. Someone get the sand out of the bottom, or none of us will survive. I need only one skeleton crew.”

  Not one man withdrew. Kjartan barked out the names of the men who would accompany him. They scrambled aboard, grabbing oars and manning their positions. Reider shoved the boat off and leapt aboard, almost missing his footing as the boat rocked wildly in the swell.

  Soon they were rowing hard to reach the other boat, muscles bulging with the strain, faces tense. The spray quickly had them drenched. Reider braced his legs at the prow, clinging on for dear life, praying the stout rope around his waist would be enough to secure him. The boat pitched and rolled.

  As they neared the other boat, Reider saw that Kjartan had been right. The stricken vessel was not Danish—Norman perhaps? Wherever they had come from, they were being tossed like a cork on the snarling sea. They had lost their sail and steering oar by the look of it. The efforts of the few remaining oarsmen were getting them nowhere. She was a large boat, larger than the one that had come to her rescue.

  The Danes came as close as they dared, but near enough to see the grim desperation on exhausted faces turn to open mouthed surprise when they espied the Danish longboat. Huddled figures clung to the mast, but any shelter had long since been lost to the wind.

  Widening his stance, Reider cupped his hands to his mouth to urge them to jump into the sea, but no sound emerged. Frustrated, he made a wide beckoning motion, but heads shook in disbelief.

  It’s your only chance.

  Suddenly, a figure moved away from the others clinging to the mast, climbed unsteadily onto the side of the stricken ship and leapt into the water. A boy! He clutched something to his chest, but lost his grip on whatever it was when he hit the water. Every head turned to watch the lad flail his arms, trying in vain to make headway towards the smaller boat. He seemed determined not to give up, though stark fear was etched on his face. It was evident he was not a swimmer and would likely drown, dragged under the waves by heavy furs. Reider looked back at Kjartan struggling to hold the tiller with the help of another crewman. The plucky youth was the only one with the courage to jump. Reider would not let him drown. He took a deep breath, offered up a prayer to Aegir, and dove in.

  The impact of the icy water took his breath away when he resurfaced. The swells towered over him. He kicked his legs, treading water. Timbers creaked and moaned as the boats battled wind and waves. Then came another sound borne on the wind—the yelping of a dog! He caught sight of it nearby, swimming in circles, barking frantically. Suddenly, the boy’s head bobbed back to the surface next to the animal.

  Reider sucked in another deep breath, swam to the boy and clamped his arm around his ribs, surprised to feel a flotation device strapped around his upper body. Reider had heard of sailors wearing inflatable animal skins when they went to sea. Much good it had done! The boy was unresponsive. Reider waved his free arm and his crew hauled him back with his prize. The hound paddled after them, disappearing beneath the waves several times.

  After two harrowing attempts, Reider managed to hand the boy off to a shipmate. He heaved his own body back on board with difficulty, barely able to make his frozen limbs work. Leaning over the side precariously, he reached down and hooked his numbed fingers into the exhausted dog’s studded collar. The creature was nearly done for. He put his other hand on the dog’s rump and hauled it up to the boat with what little strength remained. He braced himself with the squirming dog against his chest, then tossed it, hoping someone would catch it. He collapsed to his knees and coughed till he choked. Lungs afire, he gulped air.

  Several men from the stricken vessel were now in the water, swimming to the Danish boat, doubtlessly emboldened by the heroic rescue they had witnessed.

  Suddenly, a swell lifted the battered cog, held it suspended, then turned it upside down. The Danes could do nothing to aid the men trapped beneath. The exhausted swimmers were dragged one by one into the Danish boat.

  Reider caught sight of the doomed ship’s name, barely visible and upside down. He squinted. Nordique?

  Shivering, Reider signalled to Kjartan to take them back. They had saved as many as they could. His friend nodded grimly, his clenched jaw showing the strain of the battle against the elements.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The exhausted Danes moored the boat in the hidden cove. Though the storm’s rage had weakened it had been an ordeal getting back safely. The shivering survivors cowered together in the stern. The lad lay like a corpse, on his side, in a pool of water in the bottom of the boat. The shivering dog had curle
d up next to him. The animal growled when Reider leaned over to listen for signs of life.

  Ja! The courageous urchin was still breathing, barely. Reider scooped him up and carried him off the boat and up to the lodge as fast as his frozen legs would allow. The black dog shook the water from his pelt, then raced to follow, barking furiously.

  Reider had to get the lad out of his wet clothing. Suddenly the frail body shuddered and the youth retched sea water over Reider’s parka. His head fell back with a groan and Reider was struck by his fine features. Too feminine—a pretty boy. Typical foreigner! Reider rolled his eyes—udlændinge!

  He kicked open the door, bracing to keep his balance, and hastened to his pallet. They had built this lodge after their frantic flight from Gorm. It was a simple structure, oak wall posts held together with tie beams, but Reider’s and Kjartan’s status afforded them a privacy curtain for their sleeping alcove. It was a bare-bones existence, but it was warm and provided shelter from the elements, except when the thatched roof leaked!

  Reider dropped to his knees and deposited the boy on the dirt floor. No use getting the straw mattress wet. He intended to remove the youth’s clothing then put him to bed, get him warm. The shivering dog took up a position at the end of the pallet, barking without surcease, though it looked close to dropping from exhaustion. Reider held up a hand, hoping the animal understood he was trying to help his master. The dog calmed and slumped to the floor, its head on its front paws, whimpering. Reider breathed a sigh of relief.

  He stripped off his own wet clothes and tugged on a dry pair of braies from his sea chest. He rubbed his hands together, blowing on his frozen fingers. When some of the feeling had returned, he set about untangling the knotted ties of the boy’s hood. Frustrated, he finally yanked it off, surprised to see a tight skullcap beneath, evidently another peculiar foreign habit. He pulled. Long hair tumbled out, twisted in sodden rattails. Reider gasped. A strange fashion for a boy to have such a long mane! Reider’s own hair was much the same blonde colour, shoulder length, but this lad’s—it must go to his waist!

  One of the boy’s boots had been lost. Reider pulled off the other and rubbed the small, white feet hard. A strange discomfort crept into his belly. The feet were—appealing? He’d swallowed too much seawater, a truth borne out by the raw fire in his chest.

  He pulled at the bindings of the long furs. They were thick and heavy. It was a miracle they hadn’t dragged the wretch to the bottom of the sea. Whoever this was, his family was not poor. The idea of ransom flitted into Reider’s head.

  He pulled the boy’s body against his chest with one arm, intending to ease the furs off his shoulders with the other. His breath caught in his throat. Alarm surged through him. What the—? He remembered the softness above the boy’s ribs. To his consternation, a tingling stirred his pik.

  Only the saturated tunic and leggings remained, but the truth of the lad’s gender as his chest heaved could no longer be denied. Reider licked his lips, certain that when he removed the tunic he would see a magnificent pair of female breasts. With trembling hands he undid the belt. The dog growled, raising its head. Reider rubbed its wet ears and noticed a scabbard on the boy’s hip. He unfastened it and eased out a small dagger. It was old and beautifully crafted, a Viking carved intricately into its handle.

  Beyond his alcove he heard sounds of the other men being fed and warmed and given dry clothing. Soon Kjartan and the others would come to see how the boy fared. He must get rid of the wet clothing.

  He grasped the hem of the tunic, took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes tight shut and peeled it over the boy’s head. The dog came to its feet, barking loudly. Reider squinted one eye open, then blinked rapidly. His heretofore mildly interested pik stood to attention. He stared incredulously, filled with an urge to swirl his tongue over the pert pink nipples bared to his view. Margit’s breasts were ample, but these, these were—perfect.

  He combed his hand through his hair, suddenly aware it was still wet. Cold chilled his bones, though his body was suddenly a raging inferno. Quickly he raised the girl’s hips and eased off the leggings. He could not look away from the golden curls at the top of her long legs. His gaze raked over her naked body, her beauty making him ache.

  He grabbed a drying cloth, hesitated a moment, gripping the material tightly, then draped it over her. Carefully, he rubbed her shoulders, then her long arms, then her flat belly. He took a deep breath before patting her breasts dry, easing them up to dab the delicate skin beneath. He fisted the cloth then rubbed her thighs, knees and shins. When he tossed the wet linen into the corner, the dog ran over to sniff it, but then returned quickly to his mistress’s side.

  Reider gazed at the girl. He clenched and unclenched his fists, itching to touch her. His mouth was bone dry, every muscle in his body tight. He shook out his hands, put them to his face to make sure they had warmed, then spread his fingers and touched her thighs. He pressed the tips lightly into her flesh, relieved to feel warmth returning to her limbs. If he pressed a little harder with his thumbs, he could ease her legs apart and perhaps catch a glimpse of—

  She tossed her head and moaned, hugging her arms to her breasts as she turned onto her side. He withdrew, feeling like a naughty child caught misbehaving. He lost his balance and groaned at the sight of her perfect round bottom. The dog whimpered.

  Gritting his teeth, Reider lifted the girl onto his bed, fanning her wet hair to hang off the pallet. He piled blankets and furs on top of her. The dog stopped whimpering and crawled to curl up at his mistress’s feet. Reider retrieved the drying cloth and rubbed it over the animal. It turned liquid eyes to him. “God hund,” he mouthed, hoping the animal would understand.

  Panting hard, Reider stood and looked down at his guest. Who was this foolhardy woman who jumped into raging seas holding a dog, and carried a Danish dagger?

  After wiping the weapon dry, he put it back in its scabbard. He grabbed dry clothing, all the wet raiment, and the scabbard, then left for the sanctuary of Kjartan’s alcove, relieved his burdens at least hid his raging arousal. The dog watched him leave.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kjartan sat on his pallet, lazily rubbing his wet hair with a linen cloth. He watched Reider dump the sodden clothing on the dirt floor with ill disguised irritation. “Why are you filling my space with your wet things?”

  He glanced at Reider’s groin. “What’s got you all excited? Aren’t you exhausted like the rest of us?”

  Reider tightened his smile, wiped off his chest and pulled a dry tunic over his head, knotting the belt tight. He snorted and pointed in the direction of his alcove with his thumb, shaking his head.

  The sneer left Kjartan’s face. “What?”

  Reider cupped his hands and put them to his chest, lifting imaginary breasts.

  The lad’s a girl.

  Kjartan laughed incredulously, then grimaced as his fingers snagged through his tangled hair. “Are you sure?”

  Reider bristled, and indicated the size of the breasts he had uncovered.

  I may not know much about women, but I do know what breasts are.

  Kjartan drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around his bent legs. “What amazing news! The way she jumped fearlessly, with a dog in her arms. A woman, you say?”

  Reider slumped down beside his friend and pulled on his leggings, forcing his still hard erection into the confines of the soft sealskin. He held up his hands in bewilderment.

  What am I to do with her?

  Kjartan burst out laughing. “Only you would ask that question, my friend. Take her to bed. Judging by your upset, I assume she is comely?”

  Reider jumped to his feet, shaking his head vigorously, spattering Kjartan with droplets of water.

  Kjartan reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hey! Hold on, I didn’t mention marriage. Make her your thrall. Then you can bed her at your whim and not worry. She’ll be your slave.”

  Reider raked his hand through his wet hair, then wiped it on his tunic. He retrieve
d the scabbard, intending to shove it in the waistband of his leggings. Instead he drew the dagger and handed it to Kjartan. His friend turned the weapon over several times, examining the handle carefully. “It’s the girl’s?”

  Reider nodded.

  Kjartan traced his finger over the Viking. “This is definitely Danish, a woman’s dagger, and if I’m not mistaken it was carved somewhere along this coast. It’s old. I’ve seen something similar before, but where? How did she come by it?”

  Reider took back the dagger and shrugged, making a sign that the woman was still asleep.

  Kjartan came to his feet. “You’ve left her alone?”

  Reider reassured his friend by pointing to her wet clothing, which he picked up, along with his own, intending to spread them on the drying lines strung around the central hearth. He regretted sharing the information. Kjartan’s guffaws followed him as he completed his task. He hurried to his own alcove, arousing the curiosity of the men.

  ~~~

  Torgrim Jakobsen hovered outside Reider’s alcove. “Sounds like the lad’s feverish, my lord. Cryin’ out like a girl.”

  Reider hunched his shoulders and gripped the curtain, but did not open it, unwilling to share his discovery. He muttered his thanks to Torgrim and sent him on his way.

  He waited until the seaman shuffled off before opening the curtain a crack and sidling in. Relief and agitation washed over him when he looked at his guest. Thanks be to Freyja that Torgrim had not seen her. She had thrown off the blankets and furs and writhed on his bed, completely exposed. The hound watched his mistress, but did not make a sound. He turned mournful eyes to Reider.

  The arousal Reider had successfully calmed roared anew, but the girl’s pallor disturbed him. He knelt and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. She was too hot, though she shivered alarmingly.

  She shoved the blankets off again and again, tossing her head back and forth. He stayed in a kneeling position beside the pallet at first, but then had to lie alongside her, his arm keeping the covers in place. The salty smell of the sea clung to her damp hair.