by Mia Marlowe
Rika caught herself tensing and holding her breath. She forced air in and out of her lungs, willing her heart not to leap from her chest. Across the holmhring, she saw Astryd, her face shimmering with hate. If Bjorn lost, Rika knew Astryd expected to take her as a drudge once more.
Bjorn brought his heavy sword down on his brother, but Gunnar’s shield glanced the blow to the side, leaving his protection still intact. It was Gunnar’s turn again.
There was no strategy to the holmgang, no method for winning other than brute strength and endurance as the combatants exchanged blows. Bjorn staggered back a pace under the brunt of an attack, one of his feet leaving the cloak.
“He gives ground!” The shout went up from all the onlookers and Bjorn scrambled back onto the cloak ready to continue combat. To let both feet leave the cloth-covered area would be to invite the shameful cry of “He flees!”
Rika closed her eyes, a knot in her throat making it difficult to swallow. She couldn’t bear to watch. The sound of splintering wood, the low grunts of exertion, and then the clang of steel on steel made her open her eyes again.
She gasped. All three of Bjorn’s shields were in tatters, but Gunnar still had one left.
“You should have left it alone, little brother.” Gunnar’s face stretched into a macabre smile. “The winner takes all in the holmgang, you know. Of course, all you’ve got is that little redhead, but don’t you worry.” Gunnar swung his sword in a wide arc, an easy swing, just toying with Bjorn. “After I finish you, I’ll go watch the sacrifice. Then I’ll take care of the skald for you. And when I’m tired of her, I’ll pass her around to my men.”
Rika felt Al-Amin crowd close behind her. The eunuch rested his meaty hand on her shoulder. She shivered. However much Al-Amin might try, he wouldn’t be able to protect her from Gunnar if Bjorn fell in the square. But if Bjorn died, the flickering lamp of her soul would wink out with him. She would cease to care what happened to her anyway.
“Doesn’t it bother you that I’ll have your whore?” Gunnar said tauntingly, trying to goad his brother into a poor stroke.
The muscle in Bjorn’s cheek ticked, but he still didn’t move. Rika knotted her fingers together and gnawed her lower lip.
When the blow came, it was so fast, Rika’s gaze could barely follow it. Bjorn feinted toward Gunnar’s remaining shield, then slashed upward to meet his sword squarely. The lengths of steel rasped against each other toward their hilts as Bjorn stepped into the swing.
And suddenly, the nicks in the sharp edges caught and held fast like a pair of stags whose antlers were locked. Gunnar’s eyes flew wide with surprise. Bjorn jerked back and wrenched the sword from his brother’s grasp. The blades were still frozen at right angles, but both of the pommels were in Bjorn’s hands. Rika gasped. In all her life, she’d never seen anyone disarm his opponent in the holmhring.
Gunnar stood like a statue, stunned, with his shield arm hanging at his side. Bjorn didn’t bat an eye.
“The next blow belongs to the Jarl of Sogna,” Domari said.
“Canute, a sword,” Gunnar yelled to his second.
The big blond Viking spat on the ground. “A man in a holmhring is allowed three shields, but only one sword.”
“Why, brother?” Bjorn’s voice was a whisper. “It would all have come to you eventually. Why did you have to kill our father?”
“Harald could have lived another twenty winters. Why should I wait for what’s mine?” Gunnar’s eyes went icy and he screamed at his brother in a berserkr rage. Then he slammed his remaining shield into Bjorn, who impaled it on the tip of one of the swords.
“Winner takes all, as you say,” Bjorn said coolly, as he stepped toward Gunnar. “I’ll settle for your life.”
The jarl staggered back.
“He gives ground!”
There was no mercy in Bjorn’s dark eyes. Gunnar stumbled backward again, trying to escape the arc of death the locked swords would unleash.
“He flees!” The crowd shouted when both of Gunnar’s feet left the prescribed fighting area.
The words seemed to stiffen Gunnar’s drooping spine and he stood straighter and stepped back onto the pegged cloak. A faint whiff of urine, the smell of fear, swirled around him, but he stood to face Bjorn.
Bjorn swung the swords to one side, preparing to bring a final slashing stroke across his brother’s unprotected middle. But he stopped, frozen, his chest heaving as if at war with an unseen foe.
“No,” he said, driving the points of the blades into the ground instead. A confused murmur rustled through the crowd.
“I have taken the sign of the Christ. I cannot kill an unarmed man in cold blood, not even one who deserves it. But Lawspeaker Domari, the outcome of this combat is clear. My brother is guilty of murdering our father.” Bjorn turned and walked to the edge of the holmhring. “I leave his fate in your hands.”
“Bind him,” Domari ordered and several men seized Gunnar. The Lawspeaker turned back to Bjorn. “You may think your act of mercy not so kind after all, Christian.” Domari’s lip curled with undisguised loathing. As keeper of the Law, he was opposed to the new religion encroaching on the North.
“Gunnar Haraldsson, you are found guilty of the crime of patricide,” the Lawspeaker intoned. “The penalty is well known. You will meet your death on the wings of the blood-eagle.”
All the color drained from Gunnar’s face. His living lungs would be ripped out through his ribs while he gasped for air. It was terror enough to melt the bowels of a braver man than he.
“Damn you, little brother,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Finish me.”
“Once more will I ask the Lawspeaker to hear me,” Bjorn said. “I am no longer Odin’s man, but my brother follows the Old Ways. On this holy night, let him offer himself to Odin in the grove both to honor his gods and to pay for his crime. Let Gunnar Haraldsson be the sacrifice from Sogna.”
The Lawspeaker narrowed his eyes at Bjorn, seeming to consider his words. Odin’s victims were usually thralls. A nobleman going willing to the grove would increase the prestige of the temple and please the priests out of all knowing.
“So mote it be!” Domari’s voice rolled over the crowd as Gunnar was led away to replace Ketil. “In accordance with the law of the holmhring, Bjorn the Black is heir to all that was Gunnar Haraldsson’s. From this moment, you are Jarl of Sogna.”
A cheer went up around Bjorn. Gunnar had made many enemies. Only Astryd shrieked her rage and bolted from the ring, away from the direction in which her husband was being dragged.
“Now to the matter of oath-breaking,” the Lawspeaker said, his voice solemn as befitted the seriousness of the offense. “A man’s word is sacred, not to be lightly given, and not to be gainsaid once it is spoken. Oath-breaking is a crime I am loath to tolerate. According to the Law, Bjorn the Black, you should be banished from the North for three years. But your brother broke faith with your father and with you and with all the people of Sogna. Your offense is mitigated by his crime. Therefore, I command that instead of banishment, you will confine yourself to Sognefjord for three years. Lead your people well and if you raid beyond your realm during that time, you will answer to me.”
Rika ran to Bjorn and threw her arms around him, relieved by the Lawgiver’s unexpected mercy and comforted by the steady thump of her husband’s heart.
“Jorand, you’ll help me rule Sogna, won’t you?” Bjorn asked.
“I thought I already made it clear tonight,” the young man said. “I’m not your sworn man. I’m only your friend. You can’t order me about, even if you are a jarl. I think I’m for a voyage, a three-year-long one perhaps. And what will you do with yourself for the time of your confinement?”
Bjorn looked down at Rika. “I’ve a mind to build a keep with a high tower for this saucy wench.”
“A fastness on a wind-swept crag overlooking the sea?” Rika asked.
“Just so.”
“Ah! So once your three-year sentence is up, when yo
u go viking, I can watch for your ship in the fjord?”
“You know my mind well, wife.”
“Then you know nothing of mine if you think to leave me, Bjorn the Black,” she said. “I’ve had enough parting from you to last a lifetime. Unless you want to meet Ragnar’s end, you’d better stay home and tend the fields.”
Bjorn swept her into a tight embrace. “How about if I stay home and tend my wife?”
She kissed him deeply. “Even better.”
The End
About the Author
Mia Marlowe’s books can be found in some interesting places. Her work has been featured in PEOPLE magazine and one of her books is on display at the Museum of London Docklands next to Johnny Depp and Errol Flynn memorabilia. Her sensual historical romances have been translated into 7 languages. Her recent TOUCH OF A ROGUE made Publishers Weekly prestigious Top Ten Romances for Spring 2012! She writes for Kensington and Sourcebooks as well as for her fans who love ebooks.
Mia enjoys connecting with readers. Visit her cyber-home at http://www.miamarlowe.com!
Watch for ErinSong (Jorand’s story) coming soon!
More ebooks by Mia Marlowe …
A DUKE FOR ALL SEASONS
MY LADY BELOW STAIRS
Available in both print and ebook formats …
TOUCH OF A ROGUE
SINS OF THE HIGHLANDER
IMPROPER GENTLEMEN
TOUCH OF A THIEF
