Loving the Norseman: Book 1: Rydar & Grier (The Hansen Series - Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  What kept her balanced was the presence of the man who always sat by her side.

  Lord Andrew may face her, but Rydar flanked her. His lengthy bulk and quiet dignity restored her calm. So many times when she found herself on the edge of irritation she turned to look at him and his comprehending smile soothed her. She relied on the Norseman to get her through the nightly formal occasions without voicing strident opinions that might challenge or offend the knight—and by extension, her king.

  Stretching in the balmy afternoon, Grier smelt the salt of the sea. A trio of noisy gulls circled overhead, sparring and bickering with each other. The bright summer sun warmed Grier’s back and thighs while the breeze cooled her. She untied her hair and combed her fingers through it, lifting it off her neck. Sporadic gusts enticed her heavy curls to play around her shoulders and tickle her cheeks.

  She smiled. Mam.

  All of her life Grier loved watching the sea. She loved the constantly churning surf with its shifting blues and foaming whites, and the way the sun spattered it with diamonds. Standing on the bluff under an endless sky, Grier’s spirit was renewed.

  A movement by the castle wall pulled her attention. A tall, broad-shouldered figure clad in a pleated linen shirt, dark gray hose and high black boots strode along the bluff toward her, moving much like the warhorse he rode. Suddenly self-conscious about her casual appearance, Grier smoothed her wind-tossed curls and retied them with the leather thong.

  ***

  Rydar had hunted on two of the three days of rain, using the steady showers to mask both his sound and his smell. He was not as successful as he would have been, had he kept his mind on the hunt, and not on the irritating presence of the knight in the keep.

  When Salle whinnied, Rydar paused on the middle deck of his boat and wiped sweat from his brow. He pulled a lungful of the damp afternoon air and smelt the salt of the sea. Squinting against the afternoon’s sunshine, he faced the mare’s direction. Moira dismounted from Raven and approached the boat with the same basket that she had carried their food in for the last three days. Since Lord Andrew arrived in Durness, Grier had not come to them.

  The Norse boys saw Moira and clambered loudly over the side of the vessel, each claiming to be hungrier than the others. At least the food was abundant and tasty, even if the courier disappointed. In actuality, the boys weren’t disappointed. They scampered around, obviously vying for the giggling maid’s favor.

  Rydar waved a greeting and forced a smile. After the night Lord Andrew arrived, and Grier kissed him so passionately that Rydar very nearly lost control and took her to her bed, he hadn’t found an opportunity to speak to her alone. He worried that he had frightened her.

  He knew he frightened himself. He very nearly tossed her on her back, pushed her knees to her shoulders and thrust himself so far into her that they melted into one body.

  It required three fitful nights of tossing in his own bed for Rydar to face the truth: he truly was deeply, desperately and devotedly in love with Grier. She embodied everything he hoped for in a woman. She was intelligent and educated. She was capable and fearless. She was confident and strong of character.

  And she was beautiful. Her copper curls slid over her shoulders like liquid fire. Her blue eyes drowned him like the North Sea had failed to. Her narrow waist, firm bosom, and rounded arse begged to be touched.

  Even now, standing on the deck with the sail puddled at his feet, the spar swinging around the mast, sunburnt, windblown and with bits of wood stuck to his skin, he stiffened thinking of her.

  “When might I tell her?” he mumbled, brushing wood chips from his cheeks. He tried to comb his fingers through his hair, but couldn’t get through the wind-tied knots. His impatient belly rumbled, so he gave up and moved to the boat’s edge to climb down.

  Logan MacDavid and Malise McKay would marry in eight days. On the ninth day, he was free to sail home. That didn’t leave him much time.

  “I’ll tell her tonight, though I won’t ask her to sail with me. I’ll leave the asking to her,” he said to himself as he dropped to the sand. “But I will tell her how I feel. Tonight.”

  ***

  As Grier corralled her hair, Andrew loosed his. Black locks pooled on his shoulders like wet ink and dripped down the sides of the beard-shadowed jaw that Kennan shaved clean each morning. The summer’s wanton breeze pressed his shirt against him, and Grier could see the bulges and grooves of his chest through the cream-colored fabric. He was a splendid example of raw masculinity choosing to be controlled by convention. She had no doubt he was a powerful and unrestrained implement in battle.

  “You’ve returned early this day, Lord Andrew,” Grier said. “Have ye finally examined all parts of our fair village?”

  The knight’s laugh displayed a perfect row of top teeth and an incomplete row of bottom teeth. Lost a couple of those in a battle, he’d said at breakfast the first morn.

  “Not quite all,” he answered. “But what’s left to examine lies closer to the keep.”

  Grier frowned a little. “And what is that, Lord Andrew?”

  The courtier sank to the sandy, sea-grass covered bluff and stretched out his long legs. He patted the ground beside him. “Will you join me, Lady Grier? ‘Tis too beautiful a day to waste standing behind stone walls and wooden doors.”

  Grier lowered to her knees, curious.

  “First of all, it’s my wish that ye’d address me less formally.”

  “Aye? And how should I call you, then?” Grier asked.

  “Well, my family called me Drew when I was but a sapling. Those close to me still do.”

  Grier could not imagine that the massive warrior ever resembled a ‘sapling’ and the idea that the man had a family and friends startled her for some reason.

  “Ye have family?” she blurted.

  Andrew lifted one brow in amusement. “Aye, my lady. I did no’ spring forth from the ground, fully formed and astride my horse. My existence came about in the usual way.”

  Grier’s face heated but she smiled, relieved that he wasn’t offended. He leaned a little closer to her.

  “Will you call me Drew as well, then? I’d be honored to count ye among my friends.” Lord Andrew’s voice rumbled softly, blending with the voice of the sea. The notion that Lord Andrew might use such a request to lull her to his side for some political reason did nudge Grier. But she daren’t refuse him. And what was his side, precisely?

  “Nay, Lord—Drew. The honor of your friendship is mine,” she demurred.

  Drew nodded his thanks and turned his gaze toward Balnakeil Bay and the sea beyond. “Tell me the history of this castle. Has it always been in your family?”

  Grier shook her head. “These lands were given to my grandfather by Robert Bruce.”

  Drew did not appear surprised. “And before that?”

  “Oh! Well… before that, it was a bit run down. I’m afraid I have little knowledge of those days.”

  Golden eyes returned to hers. “Before that, this was Scotland’s farthest northwest defense against the Vikings. Many battles were fought here. It’s said the sands were soaked red with blood.”

  Grier shuddered at the idea of her pristine white chyngell being the site of such carnage. “I’m glad those times are past,” she murmured.

  “Are they?” Drew challenged.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I’m no’ mistaken, ye’re aiding a Norseman of Viking heritage in the keep yourself.”

  Grier scoffed. “Rydar is no’ a Viking! He’s merely a man who’s trying to get back to his home.”

  “And he’ll reach there with complete knowledge of these fortifications, will he no’?” Drew pressed.

  “Are ye thinking he’ll return with a fleet and attack us?” Grier could not imagine such a turn of events.

  “It’s been done, my lady. Many a time.”

  Grier shook her head. “I’ve come to know the man well. He’s strong and capable and intelligent and determined. But he’s
no’ violent. He only wishes to reclaim what is his. And what is his is in Norway.”

  “Why are ye no’ married?”

  “To him?” she gasped, wondering if her desires were evident to everyone. Panic surged through her at the idea. Had Rydar noticed? And then ignored the knowledge?

  Drew grinned, obviously amused by her misunderstanding. “Married to anyone,” he clarified.

  “Ah.” Though momentarily relieved, the conversation was now heading in another uncomfortable direction. “Twas the Death, of course.”

  “How?” Drew asked softly. He was quite close to her now. She could see herself reflected in his changeling gold-green-brown eyes, and framed by his thick black lashes.

  Grier swallowed her past sorrow. It was time to look forward. “I was betrothed thrice in six years, but none survived long enough to stand beside me at the altar.”

  Drew’s head tilted and his gaze traversed her features. “How long past was that?”

  “It’s over two years, now, since Aleck died.”

  “And no man has won your heart since?” He stroked her cheek with one warm finger and then ran its tip behind her ear. “I find that hard to believe, Lady Grier.”

  She fell silent, unable to think of an appropriate response. She had never done well at fabricating and was certain Drew would see through any attempt at deception. Yet she couldn’t tell him the truth, either, since her heart was set on a man who may not care.

  She settled for, “There are precious few available men left in Durness.”

  “It might well be, my lady,” Drew tipped her face to meet his, “that you should look beyond Durness to find your heart’s desire.”

  Shocked, Grier realized he was going to kiss her. Her eyes burst wide open and she refused to look at his mouth. She leaned back ever so slightly, scrambling for an excuse—any excuse—to avoid the encounter. Terrified of what his kiss might mean, she held her breath unaware.

  Drew paused. His brows pulled together. “Do you fear me, Grier?”

  “N-no…” she stammered.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “What about tonight?”

  Rydar whirled around. Margoh walked toward him, her hips swinging wide. The low neckline of her lavender gown was cut straight across and a ribbon tied the fabric below her bosom. Blond brows gathered over gray-blue eyes.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  Rydar shrugged in an offhand manner. “Myself, only.”

  “And what about tonight?” Margoh prodded as she stopped in front of him.

  “I was thinking that Logan and Malise will marry in just eight days. I need to speak with Logan as to what my responsibilities are as his witness. That’s all.” Rydar was pleased with his impromptu explanation, adding, “I’m unfamiliar with the Scotch customs.”

  “Oh.” Margoh glanced at the three young men crowding around Moira. “Where is Grier?”

  “Lord Andrew keeps her occupied,” Rydar said as casually as he could manage, though the thought raked painful gouges through his gut. “There is apparently much to do when one houses a guest of such high rank.”

  Margoh smirked. “He’s a very handsome and very powerful houseguest. Wealthy, too.”

  “So?”

  “What woman wouldn’t choose to spend as much time with him as she could?” Margoh’s smirk tightened. “Are they often in the castle alone?”

  Rydar rolled his eyes. “And how would I know that? I’m here all the day!”

  Margoh lowered her voice to a suggestive level that slid neatly between his doubts. “How does she look at him? How does he look at her?”

  “That’s enough.”

  “Why, Rydar? What business is it of yours if she’s bedding the knight?”

  “I said that’s enough,” he grumbled. Though certain she wasn’t taking the courtier to her bed, Grier might be considering the man. From the looks he gave her across their meals, the courtier was definitely considering her. Rydar resolved to let nothing stand in his way tonight. He would speak his heart to Grier before it grew too late.

  “Is there something you wanted, Margoh?”

  Her voice lightened some. “Yes. But have you eaten?”

  Rydar shook his head and looked toward the feeding frenzy that surrounded Moira.

  “Have you left me any food?” he bellowed. Looking guilty, the three boys backed away and sat on a sea-smoothed log with their victuals.

  Moira hurried over with the basket. “I’ve saved yours specially. It’s under the cloth.”

  “Thank you, Moira.” Rydar lifted the cloth and retrieved a warm meat pastry, a chunk of cheese, an onion and partial loaf of bread.

  “I’ve ale for you as well,” the maid said. “It’s tied to my saddle.”

  “More thanks, Moira.” Rydar smiled. At some time in the past two months, the girl apparently decided he wasn’t going to eat her alive after all and now treated him quite cordially.

  “Sit down, Rydar,” Margoh urged. “I’ll bring the ale.”

  She returned with the ale pot and sat close beside him. When his meal was half swallowed and the ale half gone Margoh spoke again, asking, “Have you decided yet?”

  Rydar needn’t ask to what she referred. The problem was, he had not decided.

  “We must understand each other clearly, Margoh,” he began. “What are you asking me for?”

  “Only passage.” Margoh’s voice pulled tight. “I don’t wish to stay here in Scotland. I want to go to Norway.”

  “You do have family there?” Rydar pressed.

  Margoh nodded. “In Áslo. My husband’s family.”

  “And they will welcome you? Provide for you?”

  “I believe—yes.” Margoh shifted her seated stance. “Yes.”

  “I’m only going as far as Arendal,” Rydar warned.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know how much farther it is to Áslo.”

  Margoh considered the three young men sitting nearby. “They will take me.”

  Rydar startled. “Have you asked them?”

  “Not yet.” She faced him again, her eyes glittering. “But I have money. And they have need.”

  That was most likely true, Rydar realized. “What of Hanne?” he asked.

  Margoh’s lips pressed to a brief line. Disgust radiated from her. “My sister believes she is old and her life is over. If she wishes to play dead, then I’ll leave her to do so in peace!” she spat. “I still have much to offer and more of life to experience!”

  “She knows of your plan?”

  Margoh nodded. Some of her ire faded from view. “She does. She thinks I’m a fool.”

  “Why is that?”

  Margoh faced him straight on. She gathered her knees under her and her eyes widened a little as she stared at him. Rydar was half afraid she was about to hurl herself at him.

  “Because I know I can find love again,” she claimed. Her voice was low and husky. The neckline of her gown gaped some. Rydar yanked his gaze back up to her face.

  “In Áslo,” he repeated with deliberate finality.

  Margoh blinked slowly. “Somewhere,” she whispered. “With someone.”

  Rydar shoved the last bit of bread and cheese into his mouth and wiped his hands on his hose. He stood and offered his hand to Margoh.

  “I must get back to work,” he told her. “We’re attaching the sail today.”

  Margoh took his hand, but didn’t stand right away. “You haven’t answered me, Rydar.” She pulled herself up slowly and leaned forward. “I have offered you payment. Will you collect?”

  Rydar felt his face heat with irritation. “No, Margoh.”

  “Never?” She moved a little, rubbing against him. “Please don’t say never, Rydar.”

  Rydar stepped back. “I must get back to work.”

  “Am I going with you?”

  Silence sailed between them as solid as the boat itself. What if Grier decided to come with him? How would she feel if Margoh was on the boat? Well, there w
ere two sleeping cabins on the middle deck; one for each woman, should it come to that. And each one would know her place in his life before they sailed. He’d make absolutely certain of it.

  One would be his passenger, the other his passion.

  The decision was made. “I suppose so.”

  Margoh wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Rydar. I am very, very grateful.” She lifted her face, waiting for a kiss.

  The easiest way out of the awkward moment was to plant a quick peck on her brow. “Good. Now go.”

  ***

  After a couple hours’ labor, the spar and mast were ready to be connected to the sail. Rydar and the boys debated who should climb the mast to string up the sail but Kristofer solved the argument by simply shimmying up the pole while the others talked. Once the young man was atop, Rydar tossed him the rope. He strung it through the iron pulley at the apex of the mast and dropped the end down. Rydar began to hoist the sail.

  The wind had been a capricious guest all day, but now it was absent and the sail hung limp. All the men watched as the huge panel of white linen rose higher and higher. The sun shone through it, making it translucent. It was hard to imagine that something so ethereal in appearance was strong enough to drag the boat hundreds of miles across the open sea.

  When the sail reached the top of the mast, a cry of victory erupted from the four. Rydar tied the sail’s rope to an iron brace that was fixed securely to the outer wall of the sleeping cabins.

  “And there’s a sight to be seen, boys!” he shouted, giddy with the knowledge that his journey couldn’t be stopped now. The boat was completed but for finishing touches. Kristofer began his monkey-like descent down the mast. Lars stood on the middle deck and Gavin stood on the upper deck. Both boys beamed at Rydar.

  The sail began to undulate from the top down. Caught in a small breeze, it lifted slightly, then drooped. Rydar heard a noise he knew he should recognize, but his recognition came too late.

  The hiss of wind through stiff sea grass was upon them quickly. The sail snapped open, its creamy smooth belly suddenly bulging. It pushed the untethered spar around the mast with astonishing speed.