The weak rays of the rising sun barely penetrated the fog on the water. He peered into it. Was there a crude shelter tucked into the forest beyond the beach? He tapped Ivar’s shoulder and pointed.
“Looks like a lodge,” Ivar whispered. “Not been there long I’d say. Might be we are on the right track, but I don’t see any boats. That concerns me. We’ll wait until there is more light before we make a move.”
As the knarr rocked in the waves, Dieter’s belly turned over. He did not want to be seasick now of all times. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the barely visible shoreline, looking for movement.
“There!” Ivar pointed. “Men on the beach.”
Dieter made out two or three dark figures. One of them lit a fire. A woman emerged from the building, accompanied by a black dog. She was bundled in furs, but there was no mistaking the banner of blonde hair. The fog lifted as though her arrival had heralded the sun, and excitement bubbled up in his throat. He gripped Ivar’s arm. “It’s her.”
Ivar narrowed his eyes. “We must be careful. We cannot assume she is with friends, but there seems to be only a handful of men. However, we do not know how many are inside the lodge. We’ll approach slowly and I’ll hail them. I still see no boats.”
Timbers creaked as the knarr strained closer to the shore. The noise caught the attention of those on the beach. The men drew daggers. One of them motioned the woman to return to the lodge. She seemed ready to obey, but then turned to look out to sea, shielding her eyes.
Dieter chuckled. “Definitely Ragna.” He waved and shouted her name.
~~~
Emerging from the lodge, Ragna inhaled the damp air, dreading another day with no word from Reider and his men. She had lost track of how many days they had been gone. Where were they now? Had they persuaded their old allies to help them?
The men left to guard her were friendly and the freed thralls treated her with respect, grateful for her part in their liberation, but she was still the only woman among them. How long would she be safe? They were vulnerable here. She sensed it, though the Danes doubted Gorm would attack, especially with the persistent fog.
Suddenly, Torgrim drew his dagger and ordered her back to the lodge. A boat had pulled into the cove. She shielded her eyes to determine the threat. As the fog lifted she saw that it was not a longboat. Someone waved. She narrowed her eyes and gasped. “Dieter?” she whispered. She had not seen her brother-by-marriage for several years, but was sure it was he waving frantically. Then she heard his voice on the wind. “Ragna!”
Relief surged over her. “Dieter has come to our rescue, Thor.” She would not be marooned on this lonely shore. She would see her family again. Waving both hands high over her head, she jumped up and down. Thor ran round in circles, barking loudly. “Dieeeeterrr!” she bellowed, running into the waves. Torgrim ran after her, trying to pull her back. “No, no, Torgrim, it’s all right. It’s Dieter. I know him. Put away your weapons.”
Her excitement spread to the other survivors and they too waved their arms, shouting and beckoning for the ship to come into shore.
Dieter leapt into the waist high water and strode towards the beach. Ragna waded out to meet him and collapsed into his outstretched arms. “You came,” she sobbed. “You didn’t give up.”
Dieter grinned broadly, hugging her tight. “Ragna! I am relieved to find you.”
Laughing, they waded out of the water, Thor leaping in the waves and chasing his own tail. Dieter’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger when he saw the Danes with their weapons drawn, but Ragna reassured him. “We are safe with them. They were left here to protect me.”
The shipwreck survivors mobbed Dieter, shaking his hand and thanking him.
Ivar’s crew came ashore and introductions were made. The Danes knew Ivar and obviously felt comfortable with him. They too became swept up in the celebration. Ragna had not given any thought to how isolated and vulnerable they too must have felt. They had been left behind because of her, when they would rather have gone to fight with their leader, their prince.
The newcomers were welcomed into the lodge and invited to break their fast. Dieter was given dry clothing and his apparel strung on the drying line. Everyone shared their story. Ragna shuddered when she told Dieter of jumping into the sea.
He laughed. “I heard the tale, and I knew that if anyone had the courage to leap into the sea, it was Ragna FitzRam.”
Ragna was astonished that her fate had hinged on the ramblings of a dying survivor of the wreck. The newcomers learned the details of Reider’s betrayal, and that he and Kjartan had gone to regain Reider’s birthright.
Like the Danes, Ivar also believed Dagfinn Alfredsen would fight with Reider. “He’s a good man. Murder of a rightful ruler would not sit well with him.”
~~~
The thought occurred to Ragna that Ivar might be a good source of information. “Captain Ivar, tell me about Margit.”
The seaman looked at her curiously. “You speak of Margit Hansdatter?”
Ragna felt her face flush. “I do not know her name. She was Reider’s betrothed,” she murmured, hoping her nervousness was not obvious.
Ivar drew on his pipe. “Margit came from Heide as an arranged bride for Reider. She is a beautiful woman…”
Ragna’s heart fell.
“…on the outside. But I always thought her devious.”
Torgrim snorted his agreement, spat into the hearth and said something in Danish. Ivar explained. “She betrayed Reider with Gorm.”
No wonder Reider mistrusts women.
Dieter came to his feet. “You can stop worrying. We will be on our way as early as the morrow. Ivar will take us back to Hamburg.”
Ragna should have been elated, but her thoughts were full of Reider. To never see him again, and not know what happened to him?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A hue and cry went up early the next morning. Longboats had been sighted entering the cove.
“Gorm’s henchmen!” Torgrim shouted breathlessly, running by Ragna on his way out of the lodge. She had lain awake for hours, clutching Reider’s headband, and finally risen before dawn.
Dieter had slept in Kjartan’s alcove, but was already up and dressed. He issued curt orders to his men and Ivar rallied his sailors. They left and Ragna followed.
“Stay here, with Thor,” Dieter ordered.
She stamped her foot. “I can fight. I have my dagger.”
Her Saxon brother-by-marriage held up his hand. “Nein, Ragna. I insist. Blythe would never forgive me if anything happened to you at this juncture.”
She sat down heavily on a bench, pouting as she listened to the sound of boots running across pebbles. Soon she heard metal clanging on metal, strident shouting, cries of pain. She paced back and forth, anxious to know what transpired outside. Thor followed her movements, cocking his head.
The minutes stretched interminably and her frustration grew. When the clamour lessened, she tightened her grip on her dagger and crept to the door, inching it open. The conflict seemed to be over. Dieter and Ivar stood at the water’s edge looking out to sea, unharmed. Dieter still had his sword drawn. One of the enemy longboats had pulled away from the shore, apparently fleeing. Bodies lay on the bloodied pebbles of the beach.
Without warning, a burly Dane barreled through the door, knocking her to the floor. Blood poured from a gash across his forehead. She squealed as the dagger fell from her hand. Her heart in her throat, she scrambled away from the attacker, screaming loudly. A glimmer of hope surfaced when she heard Dieter shout her name, but died when the Dane stooped to pick up her weapon. Surely she would not be robbed of life by her mother’s dagger?
With a menacing growl, Thor leapt at the intruder, sinking his teeth into the giant’s leg. The Dane howled and fell to the floor. Then he kicked Thor hard with his other foot, sending the dog careening against the wall with a loud whimper.
It was too much. Ragna came to her feet, and rushed at the intruder, waving he
r arms. Her loud shrieks evidently took him by surprise. He staggered to his feet and ran out, shoving Dieter to the ground when he collided with him. He ran into the waves in pursuit of his fleeing comrades. Thor followed hard on his heels. Ragna ran after him, but Dieter restrained her.
“He has my mother’s dagger,” she wailed.
Dieter held fast, breathing heavily. “Your life is more important, sister.”
She fell to her knees, keening the loss. The cold pebbles jarred her bones. “He will likely drown, taking my dagger with him to the bottom of the sea.”
He pulled her back to her feet and held her tightly as she sobbed. “We prevailed against them. That’s the important thing. Your fellow shipwreck survivors fought well, as did the Danes on our side. Gorm’s men suffered considerable losses. I am only sorry some of them escaped to limp back to their leader. But we have one of their boats.”
Ragna scanned the shoreline, breathing a sigh of relief when Thor emerged from the sea, apparently uninjured. Her hero shook the water from his pelt and raced to her side.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Roar Knutsen was relieved to be back in Strand. It had taken his last reserve of strength to reach the fleeing longboat. His comrades had hauled him aboard with great difficulty. Had they been rowing away at full power he would never have made it. His head wound had bled like the devil, even after the long while he had spent in the water. He would bear the scar for the rest of his life, a reminder of the failed expedition. The puncture wounds in his leg were deep and painful.
Glad though he was to be home, he did not look forward to the dressing down they would surely receive from Gorm. Margit’s rage would be intolerable. Roar regretted ever agreeing, while in the throes of a drunken stupor, to help Gorm take the throne. His rule had benefited no one, least of all the men who had aided him. Gorm had listened to Margit’s treacherous flattery and believed it, but he was no leader of men.
The raid on Reider’s hideout had been ill advised, but Gorm would not be dissuaded. Roar thought bitterly of the lifelong friends he had lost in the battle at Husembro, and Reider and most of his men had not been there in any case. The only thing Roar had to show for the foray, beside the wounds, was a handsome carved dagger, though it was too small for his hand.
He and his companions came wearily to their feet in the Hall when Gorm swept in with Margit on his arm. He escorted her to a seat, climbed the step to the dais and sat on the throne. He sprawled in the elaborately carved chair for several minutes, chewing his fingernails, scowling at the assembly. Roar’s nervousness increased. The head wound burned, pain gnawed his leg.
“Knutsen!” Gorm finally bellowed.
Roar came forward and went down on one knee. “My lord Gorm.”
Gorm leaned forward. “How many times must I remind you? It’s Prince Gorm.”
Filled with disgust, coupled with an urge to snicker, Roar touched his hand to his heart. Did the fool not realize the crown he wore was too big for his head, in more ways than one? “A thousand pardons, my lord Prince.”
Gorm squirmed, digging his stunted fingernails into the arms of the throne. “Explain your failure to deliver Reider Torfinnsen to me. You have returned with far fewer men than you took with you.”
Roar itched to tell the arrogant nobody that Reider had not been at the encampment, that everyone had deemed it a fool’s errand, but he thought better of it. Gorm had no interest in anything he had to say. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
Suddenly Gorm leapt to his feet, waving a dismissive hand at Roar. “Can no one track Reider Torfinnsen for me? Must I do everything myself? Get out of my sight.”
Roar stood and backed away, breathing a sigh of relief. When he turned, Margit’s malevolent glare had his gut plummeting back to his feet. She would not let him off so lightly.
Gorm strode out of the Hall, accompanied by several minions for whom Roar had no respect. Margit came to her feet and beckoned, raking her cold eyes over him, stripping him bare. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Attend me in my chamber, Roar.”
She left, a round-shouldered female thrall following in her wake. He was sure the girl had been pregnant the last time he had seen her. But he couldn’t be concerned with that. He had his own worries. If Gorm caught him in Margit’s chamber, he was a dead man.
~~~
Margit smirked. She had grown to womanhood in Heide, surrounded by burly warriors, full of their own bravado, afraid of nothing—except a woman who knew how to manipulate them. It amused her that Roar Knutsen, fearless giant, stood before her now, licking his lips, looking around nervously, shifting his weight. What would he do if she put a firm grip on his manhood?
She took a step forward, her eyes locked on his groin. She glanced up at his face, pleased to see sweat beading on his forehead. She opened her mouth, intending to taunt him, but her gaze fell upon a dagger tucked into his belt. She reached for it. He closed his eyes and looked as though he might swoon. She yanked the dagger from his belt. “What is this?”
His eyes flew open in alarm then settled on the dagger. He let out a sigh of relief. “A dagger,” he stammered.
She touched the tip of the blade to the end of his nose, sniggering when he went cross-eyed. “I know it’s a dagger, fool. It’s a woman’s dagger. Why do you have it?”
She ran her fingers over the intricate carving, recognizing the worth of the old weapon. She had never seen the like before, though the figure carved on the hilt was definitely a Viking.
Roar squirmed. “I captured it. In the raid.”
Margit scoffed. “From a woman?”
His eager answer shocked her. “Ja!”
A woman at Reider’s encampment? She chewed her lip as jealousy gnawed at her. “A woman at Husembro? Who was she? Describe her.”
Roar shook his head, eyeing the dagger. “I know not. She was hidden in a lodge and I stumbled over her. I thought there was a chance Reider might be hiding inside. She was a blonde. Long hair down to her waist. I had to flee before I had a chance to kill her. She had a mean dog. A man came to her rescue and our boat had pulled away—” His voice trailed off.
Coward!
“—he was not a Dane.”
This captured her attention. “Not a Dane?”
Roar sweated still. “He was not dressed like a Dane, and Ivar Sigurdsen was with them. We were outmanned.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Be gone. You sicken me.”
He turned to leave, then had the temerity to look back at the dagger, a question in his eyes. She smirked. “Nej, Roar. The dagger is mine now.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After long deliberation, Dagfinn’s battle plan was deemed the most likely to succeed. The best time to attack Gorm was at night. Not only would darkness provide cover, most of the drunkards and malcontents who had supported the usurper would be well into their cups by nightfall.
Sailing at night was risky, and a frontal attack from the sea fraught with dangers. Gorm and his cronies would be on the watch. Instead, Dagfinn proposed they sail in daylight to the opposite side of Strand, trek overland, wait until nightfall and attack from the rear.
Though the rocky leeward side of the island provided few landing places, one of Reider’s farms had a small dock they could use.
Kjartan was concerned that if their overland attack failed, they would have no means of escape by sea.
Reider rubbed his chin. “You are right, my friend, but I think Dagfinn’s plan offers the best chance of success.”
Kjartan scratched his head. “I agree. Every proposal has risks. I’ll prepare the men.”
Reider and Dagfinn shook hands, and his father’s ally slapped him on the back. “The gods will favour us, Reider. We are fighting for justice and honour. Gorm has no honour. My commanders will ready our men. It is fitting we should help you regain your birthright.”
Reider embraced his neighbour, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thank you, my lord.”
~~~
&nbs
p; Reider and Kjartan were left with little to do while Dagfinn’s men prepared the fleet. They and their crew were outfitted with armour and weapons. Reider was glad to have his hand on an axe once again. It was his favourite weapon but he was out of practice. He and Kjartan had spent an hour in mock combat. Muscles Reider had not used for a while were already aching.
“How fortunate we are to have such an ally, Kjartan,” he said as they paused for refreshment, marvelling at the number of boats and men Dagfinn had committed to the fight.
Kjartan sheathed the dagger, his weapon of choice. “Indeed, but he and your father were friends, as well as allies. He knows you would do the same for him if needs be.”
Both men wiped the sweat from their brows and bare torsos, then resumed their practice.
It felt good to be engaged in hard physical exercise again. They had trained during their exile, but now there was purpose to it, a feeling it was real. Vengeance was within reach.
Though the prospect filled Reider with more determination than ever, something was missing. Would vengeance be enough? What then? Strand would need a strong ruler. Was he equal to the task? With Ragna he could be.
Preoccupied with this startling thought, he swung at Kjartan, but his friend nimbly sidestepped and Reider stumbled forward.
Kjartan sheathed his weapon and bent at the waist. He put his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Your thoughts are elsewhere, my friend. I could have plunged my dagger to the hilt in your gut. Could it be you are thinking of Ragna?”
Reider opened his mouth to deny it, but Kjartan knew him too well. “She has crept into my thoughts a time or two,” he conceded.
Kjartan grunted. “Hah! A time or two? You are besotted with the woman.”
Wild Viking Princess (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 6
