The Warrior's Viking Bride

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Next summer, I will be leading my own felag. You just watch. You can be a part of it, my second in command. You could even choose which king to offer our service to.’ She waited with a thumping heart. Aedan of all people had to believe in her dream.

  He rolled away from her. Her body protested at the sudden coldness. He rapidly dressed.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘The sun is starting to rise. We will need to get the boat if we are going to make the tide. We need to get back to our real lives, Dagmar, rather than inventing a future to suit us.’

  ‘Boat? Your currach, you mean.’ Dagmar made her voice sound bright, but she could taste the ashes of disappointment in her mouth. When was she going to learn that wanting more only led to heartache? ‘A little boat rather than one of the dragon ships the north use. It is supposedly much more adept at manoeuvring which could be an advantage in the right circumstances.’

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Very good, you are learning. You begin to think like a Gael.’

  ‘Do you think they will look after the ponies properly? I have grown quite fond of mine,’ she said, rather than pathetically leaning into his touch.

  ‘The couple who have looked after my boat are good people. They will be pleased to have the ponies.’

  She looped her arms about her knees. ‘What will you do after you take me to my father’s, after you win your wager? You have never truly said. Will you marry? Is there someone waiting for your return?’

  His hand stilled on her back and she knew that there had to be someone, probably the woman who was the hostage. Her father’s gold would make the marriage possible. It must be why he had stopped mentioning her. ‘You were never bothered about that before.’

  ‘In the spring, will you find some warlord to pledge your service to?’

  She waited with a thumping heart. He had to understand what she was asking. Did he want to spend more time with her once his obligations to his people were sorted? If they both pledged to the same warlord, they could have the summers together. It would be enough—and yet she already knew she was lying to herself. She would hate whomever he married.

  He laughed. ‘My people will want me to stay. This was to be my final expedition. They have been patient for far too long. I suspect that they will have forgotten my face. And the gold your father gives me will enable much to happen that has been postponed.’

  Dagmar concentrated on the horizon which had started to turn a brilliant pink. He had a responsibility to his people. He would have to marry and produce an heir. She had always known it was not going to last. So why did she feel so heartsick? ‘This is truly the end then. I’ll treasure this time we had together.’

  He laced their hands and brought them to his lips. His eyes were inscrutable. ‘You’ll inform me, if you are with child,’ he said.

  Dagmar nearly missed a step. With child. Instinctively she put her hand against her flat stomach. It would be good to have a child, a permanent reminder of her time with this Gael. Despite the discomfort of the journey, she’d been happier than she had ever been.

  After the divorce, her mother had looked after her. She could do the same for a child, but she would be better. She could see now that her mother had been far from perfect. Any child that she had would never have to fear for his or her life because of a parent’s anger. ‘Everything will be taken care of.’

  ‘I wanted to let you know that I would be prepared to do my part and provide support if necessary,’ he said.

  ‘Child or no, you’re going back to your people and I to my new life. What was between us is in the past. I always look to the future and the next battle to be won.’

  She put her hand on his cheek. He covered it with his own for a few seconds, but then turned to undo the ponies. Her hand already felt empty. It was probably the last time she’d touch him in that way. She curled her fist up tight to allow the sensation to linger.

  ‘You do not need to come with me to my father’s,’ she called. ‘I can go on my own. I will ensure you get all that is due to you.’

  ‘I must come with you—else how will he know that I have fulfilled my wager? Think.’ He smiled, but his eyes were full of silent resolve. ‘I will be there, Dagmar. You won’t have to face your father alone when you meet him for the first time in more than a decade.’

  Dagmar bit her lip. Her plan of escaping to be a sell-sword if her father proved obstinate would be more difficult to execute if Aedan remained in the vicinity. She’d just have to wait. She needed to be cautious and not to let her anger get the better of her. ‘I hate long goodbyes.’

  ‘As do I. Provided your father behaves as he swore he would, there should be no need for me to stay. I will be back in Ile before nightfall if the wind is right.’

  Dagmar’s heart thudded. She hadn’t realised that Ile was so close to Colbhasa. It made sense now why her father could threaten Aedan’s lands in that way.

  ‘I know not to weep when you go. I rarely weep, only when my mother died,’ she said into the silence. ‘My father will not guess what passed between us.’

  He lifted a brow. ‘And if you have a child? You would find it difficult to hide that and your father will be able to count.’

  ‘It remains none of his business.’ She pressed her hands together. If it came to it, then she would withstand the pressure.

  ‘When the child wants to meet me, I will be willing.’

  ‘If it comes to pass, then I will consider your offer. No point in crossing bridges until one actually reaches the stream as my nurse used to say.’

  She knew the tears would come later, but they would be in private just as she had wept for her mother. This was not about love. It was about mourning the passing of something so special that it had reshaped her world. Not love, she repeated in her mind. It was about a time when she did not have to be strong or striving to be the best and most competent warrior, but a time that she had been able to be her most true self.

  Right now, she had to concentrate on ensuring Aedan won the wager and rescued the woman he would eventually marry. She had given her word and she would see it done, even if it was the last thing she wanted to do. Her future did not and never could include Aedan as a life partner.

  Chapter Eight

  The small tidal island of Orfirisey appeared off the boat’s bow while the peaks of the much larger Colbhasa rose behind it. And behind that, the pale-purple haze that were the Paps of Jura shimmered, mountains that anyone in Kintra could see if they faced the right direction. Returning home a free man was very nearly within Aedan’s grasp. He would keep Kintra independent, but at the expense of Dagmar’s freedom—somehow the prospect was a lot less appealing now than when he’d first started his quest.

  Dagmar’s white knuckles clutched the side of the boat in a death grip and her face was set hard. She’d changed back into her trousers and once more had become the forbidding shield maiden, instead of the quicksilver woman he had held in his arms and had made love to. Her one concession was not to put her hair into her war plaits, but to wear a single plait going down her back.

  Her question about his marriage plans had unnerved him. He had not thought of Mhairi and her plight for days. It was wrong of him, but the prospect of marriage to that woman held even less appeal than it had before she’d volunteered herself as a sacrifice. And yet within a short while, he would have to face the woman and her expectations. He’d always vowed never to marry the way his brother had done, to lie to his wife about his feelings for her.

  When Dagmar asked about his future plans, for one wild heartbeat he considered asking her to marry him, but common sense had prevailed and the words died on his lips. What could he offer her? The few windswept acres were enough for him and his people, but it was not what her father would require for his only living child. His people would never accept a pagan warlord as their lady. He could well imagine Dagmar
’s response if he asked her to not only give up her life as a warrior, but also to give up the gods she held dear.

  He had to hope that Kolbeinn would tread lightly on her dreams. And he knew she would always carry a piece of his heart with her, wherever she went.

  If she was bearing his child? He tightened his hand about the tiller. He certainly was not going to behave like his brother—attempting to marry off the woman he’d impregnated to a gullible fool like he had been. Neither would he allow Dagmar to raise the child on her own. He’d be involved. Somehow. A problem for another day.

  Dagmar shaded her eyes. ‘I can make out my father’s fleet where they are drawn up on the shore. There are so many of them. He has amassed an army.’

  ‘More than you thought.’

  ‘More than I’d considered, yes.’ She flashed a brilliant smile at him. ‘Perhaps he will allow me to captain one of the ships without too much trouble. Competent warriors are hard to find.’

  ‘Building dreams again?’

  Her bottom lip jutted out. ‘Trying to survive. I’ll find a way, Aedan, I swear it. My father will not shape my future to suit his purpose.’

  ‘Why does that worry me?’

  ‘I’ve ceased to be your problem.’

  ‘Until your father pays the wager in full, you and your actions remain my problem,’ he said focusing on the boats drawn up on the shore, rather than meeting her expressive eyes. ‘I will hold true to the fellowship as will Mor.’

  * * *

  ‘Cutting it fine, Gael. Tomorrow is All Hallows Eve,’ one of Kolbeinn’s helmsmen shouted as the currach made its way towards the various longboats which were pulled up on shore.

  ‘The deadline is All Hallows as Kolbeinn knows,’ Dagmar shouted from where she sat. At Aedan’s request, Dagmar had remained in the boat, rather than getting out to help pull it ashore as was her natural instinct.

  ‘Hush, Dagmar,’ Aedan said in an undertone. ‘A felag can only have one leader, remember.’

  ‘If my father or his followers attempt to back out of his obligations, I will act.’ Dagmar tightened her grip on her daggers which were stuck in her belt. ‘My father will honour his pledge, one way or another.’

  ‘Keep silent. Please. We come in peace.’

  ‘For now.’ She forced her fingers to release the daggers.

  She mentally rehearsed her speech to her father which she had made at least fifteen times on the journey across the sea. He had to understand that she was going to be a shield maiden for the remainder of her days.

  She gave a small snort. Hopefully her father would never realise the maiden had stopped being an accurate description of her. She simply had to find a way to demonstrate her skills and make it impossible for him to refuse her suggestion of an alliance to destroy Olafr.

  Mor jumped into the water the instant Aedan went ashore.

  ‘Are you bringing what was requested?’ the man asked again. His disrespectful tone grated across Dagmar’s already stretched nerves. As if she was a thing, instead of a person.

  Aedan shaded his eyes. ‘Aye.’

  She could hear the suppressed laughter and pride in his voice. He was enjoying this—succeeding where all other Northmen had failed. He was going to get his people back when her father must have assumed he’d failed. It felt good that her father was not going to have it all his own way. He must have been counting the gold that he would receive for the hostages and contemplating annexing Kintra into his little empire. How her mother would have clapped her hands and crowed in delight.

  ‘Dagmar, it is time to greet your father.’

  Dagmar stepped from the boat and knew she was in an alien place. This place teemed with warriors and ships, rather than being some hard-scrabble farm on a fjord in the north country. She struggled to recognise any of the faces.

  Her heart sank. She’d half-hoped that there would be a familiar face, maybe even her nurse waiting on the shore. But she recognised no one, not even her father.

  ‘We thought you dead,’ the warrior addressed Aedan companionably, ignoring his announcement completely. ‘Or had abandoned your people. The wagers have been coming thick and fast. So many wanted to track you down as a wolf’s head that Kolbeinn planned a contest to choose the most worthy.’

  Dagmar gritted her teeth and concentrated on breathing slowly. She’d been correct—her father had expected her to slit Aedan’s throat.

  ‘I obviously survived.’

  ‘And brought the daughter back. Astonishing.’

  ‘Yes.’ Aedan gestured to her. ‘Behold Dagmar Kolbeinndottar. I’ve brought her back where all others failed.’

  The man’s gaze flickered over her as if she were a piece of meat and totally worthless, lingering on where her breasts swelled under her tunic. She wished she’d bound them more tightly.

  Her stomach knotted. This was worse than her nightmares about escaping with her mother. She felt as though she was some prize cow being led to the slaughter. Going to her father’s compound did not give his warriors the right to ogle her. They would soon learn that she was not to be mocked or treated like a slave girl.

  ‘Do you think to fool Kolbeinn by offering up some random woman, dressed as a shield maiden?’ The warrior gave a derisive snort. ‘Better luck next time, Gael, but your arse along with everything else you own is forfeit.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Aedan roared.

  The warrior shook his head. ‘You have courage, Gael. By Thor, it is a pity you didn’t sup longer with Loki. You have to get up very early to fool Kolbeinn or his men.’

  Without waiting to hear Aedan’s reply, Dagmar marched forward. ‘Are you saying that I’m not Kolbeinn the Blood-Axe’s daughter?’

  The man gave a chuckle. ‘If you are, it’ll be news to Kolbeinn.’

  Dagmar put her hand on her hip and struggled to control her temper. This cretin of a warrior was not worth paying a single gold piece of blood money. But of all the scenarios she had envisioned, she had never considered that someone might doubt her identity. ‘I am Dagmar Kolbeinndottar and daughter of Helga the Red Witch! This Gael, Aedan mac Connall, has brought me here. Escort me to my father immediately or suffer the consequences.’

  She waited for the grovelling apology.

  The feeble-minded cretin shook his head and turned to Aedan. ‘Nice try, Gael, but pathetic.’

  ‘You doubt my word?’

  ‘If you speak true, then Kolbeinn will be undoubtedly pleased to see you.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘His Dagmar sports tattoos on her face. Blue-and-black whorls, a new one added for each battle she appeared in. Venomous snakes are intertwined in her plaits and hiss as she walks. Pity you two jokers didn’t know that.’

  ‘You can’t believe everything you hear,’ Dagmar commented. She silently cursed. She’d never thought about painting her face or that her father might believe the rumours. Or that the way she wore her hair would be embellished in such a way. Her mother’s subterfuge had worked all too well. ‘Only a gullible idiot would believe a person could actually wear poisonous snakes in their hair. What am I supposed to be—a snake charmer as well as a warrior?’

  ‘I knew this Gael’s brother afore he died. And he is exactly like him. The mac Connalls will say or do anything to get themselves out of trouble. What did you do, mac Connall, hide yourself for a few weeks before you found some tame young woman to attempt to pass as Dagmar Kolbeinndottar?’ He laughed. ‘Oh, aye, I will take you to see Kolbeinn, if he is receiving. This should be fun. Can this slip of a thing even lift a sword? Let alone lead men into battle?’

  Dagmar darted forward and upended the north warrior. Once the warrior had fallen she pressed the point of her dagger against his neck with one hand and relieved the warrior of his sword with the other. ‘Do you still claim I am not Dagmar the Shield Maiden? Do you know how many men’s lives I have ended? I added two more to my ta
lly on this journey. Do you wish to be the third?’

  He made a spluttering noise. Dagmar pressed the point of the sword into his throat just deep enough to draw a drop of blood. ‘Do not tempt me, man whose brains are somewhere other than in his head.’

  The colour drained from the man’s face.

  ‘Dagmar!’ Aedan shouted. ‘You’re not at war with your father! This man is under his protection. You need someone to take you to his hall. Being imprisoned for murder will only delay things.’

  Aedan’s voice reached through her anger.

  ‘I should finish you off for your impertinence, but this Gael has reminded me that you may yet have a use.’ She lifted the sword slightly from the man’s neck. ‘Do you?’

  The large man blanched and remained on the ground as the crowd which gathered around them laughed. ‘Please, lady, I meant no harm. I’ll take you to him without delay.’

  ‘Am I who this Gael says I am?’

  ‘I can see the resemblance to your father now.’

  ‘I don’t look anything like my father!’ Dagmar ground out. ‘I take after my grandmother!’

  ‘I never had the pleasure.’

  ‘You’re lucky that I’ve decided to heed Aedan mac Connall’s advice. You may live. Be content with that. Now get up and stop grovelling about in the dirt like a worm.’

  The man hastily rose and held out his hand for the sword. ‘May I have my sword back?’

  Dagmar stared at the warrior in disbelief. What did he think—she was an unblooded warrior who had never experienced a battle season? She tucked the sword under her arm. ‘I shall give this to my father so that he knows how lax his guards can be. Call yourself a warrior? You gave me no more resistance than a boy with his first wooden sword. Pathetic.’ She paused and glared at the man. ‘Unless you would prefer to challenge for it. I would warn you that I’m undefeated in such combat. I had an excellent teacher—my mother. I’m sure you have heard the legend of how she won me from my father.’