Sent as the Viking's Bride

by Michelle Styles

  ‘But...’

  ‘But nothing. Trust, Ragnhild, goes both ways.’

  Chapter Six

  Gunnar silently counted the warriors disembarking from the longboat. Far more than necessary. Only a few short years ago, he would have been one of that number—cold, wet and buffeted by the wind, pleased to be on the shore, but ready to take any opportunity. Now he stood in front of a substantial hall with a beautiful woman by his side. Looking at Ragnhild, it was hard to see the half-drowned woman who had stumbled off the boat a little more than two weeks ago. She might not be conventionally pretty, but she was handsome in her deep blue gown with its heavy brocade trim which proclaimed she was a lady of some standing and then there was her mind. She understood things instinctively rather than prattling on about nonentities as many of the women he’d been with did. Ragnhild was many things, but she was never dull.

  He shook his head. To those men on the shore, he was a person to be admired, envied. Only he knew what a hollow sham it was.

  ‘Is it who you said it would be?’ Ragnhild asked in an undertone. ‘Is he a friend?’

  ‘Maurr the Forkbeard is neither a friend nor foe. I told you I’d defeated him in the wrestling competition last year. Many predicted he’d win it. He could harbour a grudge for that. It was a fair match.’

  Ragnhild’s smile bordered on the smug. ‘The mead will be well received.’

  ‘You are enjoying being right. Allow me to do the talking.’

  She made a slight curtsy that bordered on the insolent. ‘Your hall. We are here on sufferance.’

  ‘Finally, she agrees with me.’

  The warriors approached and he mouthed the ritual greeting. Rather than replying, Maurr glanced at Ragnhild as if he wanted to make sure she was there, as if he wasn’t expecting Gunnar to have a wife. He silently cursed Ragn for mentioning the marriage decree, a decree he’d been doing his best to forget, even if it existed beyond Eylir’s fertile imagination.

  ‘Are you going to introduce me?’ Maurr asked with a false purr in his voice.

  Gunnar remembered all the reasons why he disliked the man when he looked at Ragnhild’s cleavage as she made a curtsy. With her head uplifted and the sharp autumn breeze whipping the hair from her face, she was a north woman personified.

  ‘Do you come in peace, Maurr?’

  Maurr stuck his sword in the ground and proclaimed he had come in peace. Gunnar silently counted the number of blooded warriors again. His instinct screamed to sound his horn and call his men to him and fight, get the first blows in, but it would put Ragnhild and her sister in danger. A watchful waiting game was called for until he ensured their safety.

  Maurr’s eyes gleamed as he continued his slow perusal of Ragnhild’s curves. No one had the right to do that. It was only through years of hard-won discipline that Gunnar managed to force the challenge back down his throat.

  He cleared his throat and Maurr’s pale blue gaze flickered to him. ‘We welcome you to Jura, Maurr the Forkbeard. You must take some refreshment. We hope your stay with us is a pleasant one. Svana, bring your horn forward.’

  Ragnhild raised her brow, but she kept silent. He frowned and gestured towards the horns of mead. The sooner Ragnhild completed her task, the sooner she left. Once she had departed, he could think straight.

  Her sister came forward with a horn full to the brim. Her white-blonde hair gleamed in the pale sun. Gunnar smiled inwardly. Svana was the picture of solemn seriousness as she carefully made her way over to the captain of the boat. She raised her horn with both her hands, reminding Gunnar how his sister Asa used to practise performing the same task in case she ever graced a large enough hall.

  Maurr the Forkbeard took one look at the child, shuddered and pulled back just as she went to hand him the horn. The horn spilled mead all over the warrior and Maurr gave a loud roar. ‘Stupid girl! Do you deliberately dishonour me by sending such a creature?’

  Svana’s face crumpled and a single tear trickled down her face.

  ‘It might be easier if you remember to grasp the horn before you attempt to drink from it,’ Gunnar murmured.

  ‘Is this how you greet your guests, Gunnar Olafson?’ Maurr asked with a fierce frown. His men crowded around him, as if waiting for his order to strike. ‘Dowsing them with inferior ale? Do you mean to insult me?’

  Gunnar placed his hand on his sword. His muscles tensed, readying for the fight. ‘Ragnhild,’ he muttered, moved his head towards the hall.

  ‘Do us the honour of tasting the drink, before proclaiming it inferior,’ Ragnhild said in ringing tones before he could order her back. ‘You insult Lord Kolbeinn who gave the mead to Gunnar. Was that your intention? Do you intend to move against your overlord? Your lord whom you have sworn an oath to serve? Tell me, what does Kolbeinn do to people who are disloyal?’

  Maurr’s eyes widened. His men lowered their shields and glanced at each other. They took several steps away from Maurr, demonstrating that they understood precisely what Kolbeinn did to those he considered disloyal. Gunnar struggled to keep his face impassive, but he knew Ragnhild had just tipped the odds in his favour.

  ‘Mead?’ Maurr squeaked. ‘You honoured me with your best mead?’

  ‘I have treated you like I would treat Lord Kolbeinn,’ Gunnar retorted, relaxing his hand. He studiously ignored the superior expression in Ragnhild’s eyes. ‘Dishonour the messenger, dishonour the jaarl, as Ragnhild’s grandmother would have it. Ragnhild, will you offer Maurr another chance to taste it before he insults us further and requires me to take measures?’

  She made a small curtsy. ‘With all speed.’

  Gunnar reached out a hand and drew Svana back. She was quivering like a leaf, but she gave him a brave smile. He motioned to the dogs and they immediately sat on either side of her. Her pinched face relaxed. He nodded towards Ragnhild, who appeared to understand the unspoken message that Svana was fine and unharmed.

  ‘Who is the girl? Yours? She is all thumbs and has a cast eye. A witch undoubtedly cursed her. She brings bad luck.’

  Gunnar counted very slowly. Slaughtering one of Kolbeinn’s messengers would cause more trouble than it was worth. But he would ensure Kolbeinn learned of the insults when he next encountered him. He gave an ostentatious cough. ‘Svana is a valued member of my household, Maurr the Forkbeard. You are a guest. I trust you to remember the difference in future unless you care to challenge me for these lands.’

  Maurr glanced over his shoulder, noted where his men were and made a low bow. ‘I’ve overstepped. I apologise. Blame it on the rough journey.’

  ‘I accept your apology. Accept the hospitality. Drink.’

  Ragnhild hurried forward and wiped the damp from the man’s jersey. ‘I regret my sister’s horn spilled. Svana was over-eager—her first time at greeting such an important personage. Nothing harmed. Shall we move off this cold beach? Perhaps up to the hall and the warmth of the hearth?’

  Maurr raised a brow and his gaze ranged over her, lingering a bit too long on the sweep of Ragnhild’s neck for Gunnar’s liking. ‘What relation are you to Gunnar Olafson?’

  Ragn dropped a quick curtsy. ‘Ragnhild Thorendottar, lately arrived from the north.’

  Maurr gave a speculative snort like someone who was judging horseflesh. The urge to tear him apart limb from limb shook Gunnar.

  ‘Your sister, Gunnar?’

  ‘We are unrelated through blood,’ Ragnhild replied with a tight smile and glower at Gunnar as if to say that it was his responsibility to explain the precise relationship.

  Gunnar made a non-committal grunt and refused to elaborate. Maurr didn’t deserve the full truth, after the way he’d stared at Ragnhild’s figure. Until he found a wife, Ragn was his responsibility and he refused to have her treated like a piece of meat, available to any warrior who happened past.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. Her flesh tre
mbled under his fingertips. He rapidly moved away. ‘As Ragnhild said, she has lately arrived from the north. Do I have to give you complete details of her antecedents?’

  Maurr gave Gunnar a speculative glance. ‘The vision of loveliness has a protector. Pity. I’ve no wish to create enemies when I come to make friends.’

  Maurr’s laugh grated. Gunnar frowned as he fought to control the desire to smash the other warrior’s head in. Gunnar knew strictly speaking he should correct Maurr’s assumption, but instead, he gave Ragnhild a warning look.

  ‘Why would you want to make enemies?’ Innocent wonder dripped from Ragnhild’s lips. ‘We are all friends here.’

  Maurr twirled the forks of his beard about his fingers. He’d dismissed her as brainless. Big mistake. Gunnar rubbed his hands in anticipation of seeing Maurr’s face when he realised that he’d been outwitted.

  ‘I have come in friendship to all, particularly Gunnar Olafson and his lovely bride.’

  His men beat their swords against their shields and shouted their agreement.

  Ragnhild shrugged and smiled at Gunnar as if to say—make the choice, your lands or a small falsehood. ‘You give us too much honour.’

  ‘Not all, my lady.’ Maurr raised her hand to his fleshy lips, held them there for a breath too long. The man truly did not deserve the truth. ‘Not nearly enough.’

  She withdrew her hand and signalled for more mead. The servants rushed forward and served Maurr’s men while Gunnar choked down the urge to throttle Maurr over his liberties with Ragnhild.

  ‘This estate depends on Ragnhild,’ he said rather than enlightening Maurr. ‘She has accomplished much in the short time she has been here.’

  He noticed with pleasure that her cheeks coloured from the faint praise. He had said no more than the truth. He would give her more praise in the future, he decided, as it made her radiant.

  ‘Why is it that Lord Ketil and Lord Kolbeinn know nothing of your recent acquisition?’ Maurr tapped a finger against his beard. ‘That Gunnar Olafson has a bride from the north is something you have kept a secret.’

  Gunnar tightened his hold on his sword and wondered what Maurr’s head would look like severed from his shoulders. He had always considered the man insupportable, but right now he bordered on obnoxious. He made it seem as if Ragnhild was an object rather than a person.

  Ragnhild made a curtsy, but kept her eyes low. ‘Even the wisest of leaders knows it is impossible to know everything when his holdings are as vast as Lord Ketil’s. I’ve not been here overly long. We considered the oath-taking at Jul would be ample time for an announcement.’

  ‘Is there some reason why you need to know about my intimate sleeping arrangements, Maurr?’ Gunnar asked, impressed at the way Ragnhild had avoided any direct lie. She had simply allowed Maurr to assume the announcement would be about introducing her as his bride rather than his intention to seek a bride in the spring.

  ‘Lord Ketil had become concerned that you were unmarried and in charge of such a large estate. The King has decreed...’

  ‘That priority for land be given to married men,’ Gunnar finished his sentence for him. His heart sank. ‘I have heard about this decree. There was once a time that Harald refused to marry and grew his hair long. Now that he has cut his hair and married the woman of his dreams, he thinks all men should obtain that sort of bliss.’

  ‘He is becoming more dictatorial by the month,’ Maurr said. ‘It concerns Kolbeinn. Many of us came to the Western Isles to get away from strict laws. And the last thing Kolbeinn wants is any warrior rebelling and swearing allegiance to the Northmen from the Black Pool.’

  The Northmen who had settled in Ireland around the Black Pool or Dubh Linn had become Kolbeinn’s sworn enemies after they tried to murder Kolbeinn’s daughter, Gunnar’s former commander, a few years before during the Battle of Dollar.

  ‘I served with Harald in Constantinople. I was at his side when we rocked the boats to get over the Emperor’s chain and made good our escape. Afterwards, he clasped me to his chest and called me brother.’ Gunnar fixed Ragnhild with his eye so she, too, would finally understand why the King’s decree about marriage did not overly concern him. ‘He will lose no sleep on my account.’

  He inwardly smiled as Maurr’s jaw dropped. Maurr obviously was unaware of his friendship with King Harald. He was not some barely blooded warrior who had never mingled with royalty.

  ‘Putting your faith in kings can be risky,’ Ragnhild said quietly.

  ‘It is why I have you,’ Gunnar retorted.

  Maurr dropped the rune stick he carried. ‘You can see that the pair of you are well matched. Seldom have I seen newlyweds in such tune with each other.’

  Ragnhild made a quick curtsy and retrieved the stick. She quickly looked at it before passing it to Gunnar. ‘The King’s decree on marriage. Funny how a little thing like that can concentrate minds.’

  He mouthed thank you. She had understood without his asking that he wanted to know what the rune stick contained.

  Ragnhild clapped her hands. ‘Drink to peace and prosperity of all ventures. And be glad that Gunnar holds all the King’s decrees in such high esteem.’

  ‘Lord Kolbeinn will expect you and your lady to join him for the Jul celebrations. He is currently in Ireland in discussions about what to do with the Northmen from the Black Pool’s request for safe passage from their new lands in Alba, but I am sure he will be most interested to meet your bride, Gunnar.’

  Gunnar sent his mead spluttering across the sands.

  ‘Tell Lord Kolbeinn we would be delighted,’ Ragnhild said before he had a chance to formulate an excuse.

  ‘Was there any particular reason in sending you and not Hring the Stout-Hearted, or twenty other captains in his fleet?’ Gunnar asked before Ragnhild did any more damage.

  Maurr made a bow. ‘Kolbeinn had been concerned that you might actively seek to avoid the decree. He sent someone who would not allow friendship to get in the way of his duty.’

  The breath hissed through Gunnar’s teeth. ‘Lord Ketil need not have worried. Ragnhild arrived.’

  Maurr cleared his throat. ‘A word to the wise, leave the child here when you journey. Her eyes...’

  ‘Svana goes wherever I journey.’ Ragnhild lifted her chin in the air as if daring him to say differently.

  Gunnar clenched his fists. His mother would not have spared her words—rather than bemoaning his fate for the past few weeks, he should be the one giving thanks to the gods that his friend had sent him this woman. Instead of being stubborn, he should give in to his fate.

  ‘Ragnhild and her sister will journey with me to the Isle of Man for the end of the Jul celebrations as well as to Colbhasa.’ Gunnar glared at Maurr.

  The other warrior hastily put up his hands. ‘I will inform Lord Kolbeinn to expect all three of you. It has been a hard crossing.’

  ‘You and your company must pass the night here before you travel further,’ Ragnhild said, dropping into a curtsy. ‘I must insist. Come and taste the hospitality this hall has to offer.’

  Gunnar gave Ragnhild a sharp look. If she had remained silent, Maurr would have departed, grumbling about the weather, but he would have been gone and would be nothing but a bad memory.

  Maurr’s eyes directed their gaze at Ragnhild’s bosom, rather than at her face. ‘If you are sure I am not inconveniencing you, we need a hot meal and...witty companionship.’

  ‘Gunnar would not have it any other way.’ Ragnhild gave him a significant look. The words of refusing died in his throat. ‘Does your wife travel with you or remain at court?’

  Maurr’s ears went unexpectedly red. ‘Ljot remains in Colbhasa, ma’am. She is expecting our first child in the next few weeks. Given the size of her, Kolbeinn’s wife Sif believes it to be twins.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting her at Jul.’

  ‘
Ljot would rather me travel when the tide was right and will bless you for your offer. She worries unnecessarily.’ Maurr’s eyes gleamed at Gunnar. ‘It will give me a chance to get to know your bride better. Ljot is sure to quiz me incessantly about her. You know how women are—wanting know about babies, weddings and the latest gossip instead of war tactics.’

  His loud guffaws echoed over the bay.

  Gunnar clung on to his temper. Ragnhild needed to be warned. The man had the morals of a snake. Maurr was the sort of man he would not trust in a narrow corridor where he lacked space to draw his sword. ‘The tide turns before dawn.’

  ‘Maurr will be on it.’ Ragnhild put a warm hand on Gunnar’s arm. ‘Until then he enjoys the hospitality of this hall. If you will forgive us, gentlemen, my sister and I must go to ensure we feast well tonight. The meat is roasting on the spit.’

  She marched off with her backside swaying. Maurr, despite his pregnant wife, noticed the enticing curve as well.

  Gunnar gritted his teeth. Marriage or murder, he was not sure which option he preferred.

  ‘You’re a very lucky man to have a bride like that.’

  ‘I could not have said it better.’

  * * *

  ‘Ragn? Did I ruin everything by spilling my horn? I had one thing to do and I did it wrong.’ Svana’s timid voice resounded in the kitchen where Ragn had retreated. Ideally, she would have liked to have seen the back of Maurr, but she knew Gunnar stood to gain much if he provided decent hospitality to these men. They were sure to gossip when they returned to Colbhasa. Men always did.

  Ragn banged a cooking pot down and began to fill it with barley. ‘Svana, I have a feast to prepare. You remember what Mor-Mor used to say—hungry men cause difficulty, but those with a full belly are most apt to sing praises. We want these men to sing our praises. Go to the hall and see what needs to be done. If any of the men start wrestling and get too near the fire, call me.’

  Svana twisted her hands. ‘Are you sure you want me in the hall? That man Maurr is frightened of me. He dropped that horn of mead just as I was handing it to him. He said I bring bad luck.’