Defiant in the Viking's Bed

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘If anyone sires fine sons it will be Finn, or Erik perhaps.’

  ‘And yet you take the Lady Astrid to your bed.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. You’re just getting her out of your system before you send her back.’

  Leif shot him a piercing look. ‘You were the one who said I should get her out of my system.’

  ‘So I did, and with good reason. She’ll have your child in her belly by then so you’ll need to feel quite indifferent, won’t you? Especially when Einar cuts her throat.’

  The words hit Leif with the force of a punch in the gut and rendered him speechless. His eyes were more eloquent, though, searching the other man’s face, seeking his motive. Aron’s expression remained bland. Then, apparently noticing his companion’s discomfiture for the first time, he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What? It can’t be news to you. You’ve always known what Einar would do to her. It was all part of your revenge, right?’

  Leif’s stomach spasmed and he gritted his teeth, fighting a wave of sickness. Had he really entertained such thoughts? Could hatred and anger run so deep that they no longer distinguished between justice and brutality? His enemies were Hakke and Gulbrand and Einar and their followers, mercenaries whom he would meet and slay in combat. Either that or they would slay him, in which case he would enter Valhalla and feast with the gods. That was the warrior’s path. No man worthy of the name made war with women. Astrid was not the enemy and never had been. He knew that. He’d known it for some time. How could he ever have considered condemning her to such an end? He had spared a woman once even though she had tried to kill him, but he had known what mercy was then. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain some sense of balance.

  ‘I had not finally decided,’ he replied. It was a lie and he knew it. Unconsciously his decision had been made long since but the reasons for it were still too complex to explain.

  Aron nodded. ‘It seems like a waste to me. Besides, it would gall Einar far more if you kept her. Of course, it’s your decision.’ He looked away across the field to where a thrall was rounding up the cattle for milking. ‘Ah, there’s Ulf. I need to have a word with him about the brindle cow. Cracked udders. Would you excuse me?’

  Without waiting for a reply he walked away. Leif watched him for a moment or two and then slowly retraced his steps. The conversation had unsettled him. Until then he had looked no further ahead than achieving revenge. Aron’s words had shown him all the years that lay beyond that. How were those to be filled?

  His steps brought him to the fence so he vaulted over the rail and then followed the track down the slope. He could stay on the whale road. It was exciting, but it was also a hard life—a young man’s life. He was not yet thirty, in his prime, but it wouldn’t always be so. Eventually the years would catch up with him. What then? Once he had been certain of the answer. He would watch his sons grow to manhood and he would teach them how to tend the land and how to fight. However, the gods laughed when men spoke of certainties.

  He was so engrossed in thought that he didn’t notice the burial ground until he was almost on top of it. His first reaction was to walk on past but as he drew level with the place his pace slowed. For a moment or two he hesitated. He’d vowed never to return here. He’d vowed never to return to the steading either and yet it had happened. The strand was woven into the fabric of his destiny. He could almost hear the Norns’ laughter. How the old hags must be enjoying this. He set his jaw. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped off the track and walked through the narrow gateway.

  The grave seemed even smaller now, the original mound of earth almost flattened by the elements and passing years. Grass had grown over the bare soil and round the marker stones. It was a small enough space, he thought, yet it contained the better part of his life, a part he had buried deep in every sense of the word. Not deep enough to lay the ghost though. In spite of his best efforts, the small, pale fetch had drawn him back. His journey had not been linear after all, only a vast circle which brought him back to the place he’d started from. What had it all been for? Just then he had no idea.

  Slowly he sat down beside the grave and closed his eyes, trying to recall his son’s face. It was like trying to clutch mist. The harder he tried, the more it eluded him and in the end he gave it up, aware only of irreparable loss and an increasing sense of weariness and desolation.

  * * *

  Astrid finished mending the ripped seam in the tunic and bit off the thread. Having folded the garment and laid it with the rest, she got to her feet, glad to stretch her limbs again. She had been sewing since noon and her eyes were tired from looking at tiny stitches. It was time to stop for a while.

  ‘I’m going for a stroll.’

  Ingrid glanced up from her work. ‘As you will. I’m almost done myself.’

  Astrid wandered away from the hall towards the pastureland. It was quiet and pleasant with only the sound of the breeze and the songs of birds for company. Considering that she was a captive, she’d been permitted considerable freedom and the buildings and lower fields that comprised the steading had become familiar to her now. Her movements were watched of course but that was only to be expected. Leif’s trust only went so far.

  She reached the fence and continued on along the track a little way. Once or twice she glanced at the horses grazing in the fields beyond, thinking that it would be good to ride again, to explore a little further afield. Perhaps she could put it to Leif. The very thought brought a smile to her lips, for it wasn’t hard to visualise his response. No way would he let her anywhere near a horse. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Glancing along the track, she saw that she was nearing the burial ground. When she reached it she’d turn back. In any case her guards would soon intervene if she tried to go any further, and pushing her luck might result in being allowed less freedom. The thought of being locked up held no appeal.

  Another thirty paces brought her to the end of her walk. She smiled ruefully and was about to turn back when she noticed the figure sitting beside the small grave she had seen earlier. Then she saw who it was. His presence here was so unexpected and so incongruous that she felt at a total loss. Moreover, something in his very stillness suggested that she had inadvertently intruded on something that was both personal and private. Wincing inwardly, she backed off.

  It might have been motion or the sound of leather on stone that warned him he wasn’t alone but he looked up quickly and saw her. His brow creased and he came to his feet in one fluid movement.

  ‘Astrid. What in Freya’s name are you doing here?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Walking, my lord.’

  ‘Walking? You’re a little far from the buildings, aren’t you?’

  ‘I was just about to turn back.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lord. I didn’t mean to intrude. I didn’t know anyone was here.’

  He surveyed her in silence and then his features relaxed a little. ‘Well, no matter.’

  Astrid glanced back along the track and backed another pace. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

  ‘Stay.’ His voice checked her. ‘There’s no harm done, at least not by you.’ He left the graveside and came to join her. ‘We’ll go back together.’

  They fell into step and for a while strolled in silence. More than ever aware of him, she darted a covert look his way, but his expression gave no clue to his thoughts. Curiosity strove with caution and lost.

  ‘Whose graves were those, my lord?’

  ‘My kin. Three generations of them: my grandfather, my father and my son.’

  ‘The one you spoke of before?’

  ‘He.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Sigurd.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Eleven months.’

  The tender age caused Astrid no surprise: infant mortality was commonplace. Grief and loss, however, were intensely personal, and they were no
t limited by time.

  ‘Had he lived he’d have been ten this summer.’ Leif paused and shook his head. ‘Children should not die before their parents.’

  ‘No, they shouldn’t,’ she replied. ‘Though I think Sigurd will never be dead to you.’ Nor will your wife. Was the child’s death the reason she left? She couldn’t bear it either.

  ‘Laying someone in a grave doesn’t end it.’

  They lapsed into silence again and she made no attempt to probe any further. His pain was almost palpable. It was like a hurt that had never healed and, glimpsing the extent of it, she realised that he was not invulnerable. That he could have loved a child so much spoke of something in him that was far removed from the persona of ruthless warlord that he presented to the world.

  ‘I grieved for a long time after I lost my sisters,’ she said.

  He threw her a swift sideways glance. ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘My uncle married them off to old men in order to further his political ends. They wept, pleaded with him not to make them go through with it, but he took no notice.’ She paused. ‘Their husbands took them far away. I never saw either of them again and probably never will.’

  ‘It is the way of things,’ he replied.

  ‘So it is, but the grief was no less real for that.’

  ‘Your uncle has much to atone for.’

  Astrid rested a hand lightly on his arm. ‘Don’t send me back to him, Leif. When this is over, I mean. Let me return to Ragnhild instead.’

  He stopped and his gaze locked with hers. ‘You’re not going back to Ragnhild or to your uncle.’

  Her mouth dried. ‘You mean to kill me yourself?’

  ‘If I’d wanted to kill you, I’d have done it already.’

  With a sinking feeling she realised what form his revenge was going to take. ‘I would rather die at the point of your sword than be sold as a slave.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ he replied. ‘As it happens I have no intention of doing either of those things.’

  Something in his expression set the skin prickling along her spine. ‘What, then?’

  ‘You stay with me.’

  Astrid stared at him, speechless. Once those words would have gladdened her beyond measure, because he of all men was the one she would have chosen to be with. It would have meant that he felt the same way, that he believed there was a chance for them, a future. Under the present circumstances the suggestion was monstrous. When she’d tried to imagine all the forms his revenge might take, this one hadn’t occurred to her at all.

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Never more so,’ he replied.

  ‘I knew you to be angry and vengeful but I never thought you deliberately cruel.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry you think it now.’

  ‘Neither had I realised your hatred ran so deep.’

  ‘I don’t hate you, Astrid. On the contrary, your company is becoming most congenial to me—in bed and out of it.’

  With an effort she held on to her temper, suspecting now that he would enjoy seeing her lose it. ‘You’ve already taken what you wanted. You could let me go.’

  ‘You’re wrong, on both counts.’

  ‘Leif, think...’

  ‘I have, and that’s my decision. I shall not alter it.’

  Her hands clenched at her sides. ‘It may be your decision but you are only half of this...this relationship.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m the half with the power.’

  It was the truth, but no more palatable for that. Astrid’s chin tilted to a militant angle and her violet eyes darkened with suppressed fury.

  ‘Do you have any idea how insufferably arrogant you are?’

  ‘Do you have any idea how attractive you are when you’re angry?’

  The reply was a strangled growl in her throat. With that she turned on her heel and marched away. Leif watched her go and smiled to himself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Astrid paced up and down behind the hall, quietly fuming. He had enjoyed every bit of that last conversation; had enjoyed delivering the killer blow. The brute had been playing with her. He’d once said something about keeping her but she’d taken it as a taunt. How long ago had his decision been made? How long had he been maintaining silence, letting her sweat and think he would send her back to her uncle, when privately he was planning something quite different? While she had dreaded the former she viewed the latter with total shock. The enormity of it took her breath away. To enter into a lifelong relationship was one thing; to enter into it motivated only by thoughts of revenge was quite another.

  As her anger began to cool it was gradually replaced by sadness and dread. It was clear now that he’d never entertained any doubts about her complicity in the plot to destroy him: he not only believed her guilty but intended to make her pay for the rest of her life. The plan was chilling. It wasn’t physical punishment he intended but something much subtler and infinitely worse. He must already have guessed that her emotions were involved. Had he intended to make her fall for him in order to demonstrate complete indifference later? Was he so cold-blooded? It seemed so much at variance with the man she had glimpsed before, a man she could have learned to love.

  For the remainder of the afternoon and evening she avoided him, finding a host of reasons to stay away. However, as the hour grew later it brought with it inevitable reunion.

  Astrid was already in their sleeping quarters when he returned, but spoke no word as he entered or made any acknowledgement of his presence beyond a glance. Leif did not speak either, only began to undress. Astrid pulled off her overdress and gown and laid them aside but instead of climbing into bed she approached only long enough to remove the top cover.

  Leif raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m sleeping on the floor tonight.’

  The blue-grey eyes glinted. ‘You will be sleeping with me, vixen—tonight and every night.’

  ‘Of course, I was forgetting. You have the power in this relationship.’

  ‘So I do.’ He confiscated the cover and tossed it back on the bed; then stepped closer and reached for her waist.

  Astrid made a fruitless attempt to disengage herself from his hold. It didn’t alter. ‘Let me go, Leif.’

  ‘I have already said I will not.’

  She renewed the attempt but with no more success. ‘How I detest you.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ His lips nuzzled her neck and throat. ‘However much you might want to.’

  She shivered and tears pricked behind her eyes because she knew the words for truth and they merely served to enhance the sense of his power over her. ‘I do want to. I want to hate you as much as you hate me, every last cold calculating inch.’

  Leif frowned and drew back, looking into her face. ‘I don’t hate you, Astrid. I thought I’d made that clear.’

  ‘Then why are you doing this? Why won’t you let me go?’

  ‘Because you belong with me.’

  ‘You mean I belong to you.’

  ‘If you want to put it that way. It doesn’t change anything.’ His gaze bored into hers. ‘Even if I did let you go, do you seriously think Ragnhild could protect you once your uncle got wind of your whereabouts?’

  ‘It’s a chance I’m prepared to take.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’

  ‘No, it would destroy your long-term plans for revenge, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You know very well. Did you not recently describe the punishment you mean to inflict? Should I be grateful that death and slavery don’t feature, that it’s only going to be a lifetime with you, to be destroyed slowly, a day at a time?’ Her gaze met his. ‘You know I’m not indifferent to you. I wish I could be. As it is, your task is likely to be quite easy.’

  Leif paled and his hold slackened. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘What else is there to think?’

  ‘That I might want to keep you f
or yourself.’

  ‘A woman whom you believe to have betrayed you? Hardly.’

  ‘It wasn’t you who betrayed me. I know that now.’

  She stared at him in frank astonishment. ‘When did this come about?’

  ‘Some time ago.’

  It was hard to take in, and when she did it was with mixed emotions. ‘You never told me.’

  ‘I thought it was obvious.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘Well, now we’ve cleared up that misunderstanding.’ His frown deepened. ‘And while we’re on the subject of misunderstandings, you can forget about murder, slavery, torture, maiming or any other forms of brutality that your overactive imagination may have suggested to you.’

  Astrid’s eyes became a deeper shade of violet. ‘Why should you be surprised if I did imagine such things?’

  ‘I admit you may have had grounds at first.’

  ‘May have? You told me yourself that I was your slave; forced me to undertake all manner of menial tasks and spoke to me as if I were dirt.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, I was angry at the time.’

  ‘So that excuses your behaviour?’

  ‘I do not excuse it. What I’m saying is that it’s in the past and it’s staying there. And you’re staying with me.’

  ‘Whether I want to or not.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He reached for her waist again. ‘Besides, you’re not indifferent to me. You just said so.’

  Astrid resisted his hold. ‘It’s not enough, Leif.’

  ‘Why? What else is there?’

  ‘If you don’t know then you certainly don’t want me for myself. You have no idea who I am.’

  ‘I know all I need to—all that matters.’

  ‘Keep telling yourself that. You may come to believe it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he demanded.

  ‘It means I want to be more than just the woman you sleep with.’

  ‘You are more than that. If you weren’t I wouldn’t be keeping you with me.’