Sent as the Viking's Bride

by Michelle Styles

  ‘I do have eyes and ears, sweetling.’ Ragn ruffled Svana’s hair. ‘That man has little say about what happens here. You heard Gunnar. You are welcome here, but more importantly you belong here. You bring me lots of luck. You saved my life when you took that blow to your head.’

  Svana rubbed the back of her head where Vargr’s cudgel had hit her. ‘I remember nothing about that and it no longer aches. You need to stop going on about it like it matters.’

  A lump came into Ragn’s throat. Svana might say it was nothing, but Ragn knew she’d never forget it. ‘That is something. You are healing.’

  ‘I only remember the nasty dogs and the way they snarled. If we had had some dogs like Kolka and Kefla, Vargr would not have dared to come near us.’

  ‘You may be right about that.’ Ragn crouched down. She had to hope the ruse had worked and Vargr believed they were dead. He had the lands he’d coveted and he was welcome to them. In the short time she’d been here, she’d lost any appetite for returning to the north and reclaiming her lands. ‘We live here and we both have jobs to do. Forget the past.’

  ‘Do you think we will be able to stay for ever? Maurr called you Gunnar’s bride.’ Svana gave a long drawn-out sigh. ‘It is such a lovely word—bride.’

  Ragn glanced over her shoulder. The servants were busy preparing the food. ‘Maurr the Forkbeard said a great many things, including untrue things about you. Why should I pay attention to what he says?’

  Her stomach knotted. She should have corrected Maurr, but her instinct screamed that he’d intended to use Gunnar’s non-compliance with the King’s decree as a pretext to seize these lands. The one thing in her favour was that Gunnar had failed to correct Maurr. He’d allowed the mistake to continue.

  Svana’s eyes shone. ‘I like Gunnar. He’s kind. Do you think...?’

  ‘You are a bit young for him.’

  Svana stamped her foot. ‘That is not what I meant! And you know it. He said we were his family and we would be accompanying him to Colbhasa. It must be true if he said it.’

  ‘I’ve learned that holding my breath waiting for things to happen fails to look attractive—I turn blue and fall down. Therefore, I stopped doing it and you should, too.’ She gave a decisive nod. ‘He will find a reason why he must go on his own to swear his oath and leave us here where we want to be.’

  Svana hung her head. ‘Because of me, you mean.’

  ‘Sweetling, you heard Gunnar defend you. It will be because he has no wish to live a lie.’ The words tasted like ash in her mouth. And it would be a lie. He had no intention of marrying her ever. To parade her in front of his commander as his bride would be wrong.

  ‘He is softening towards you.’ Svana held her hand up to her mouth. ‘I saw the way he glowered at Maurr when his gaze lingered on your figure. I thought he might challenge him then and there.’

  Ragn pretended to be busy with the sweetened barley she had put to soak earlier. Neither warrior had paid any attention to her body, but it was gratifying of Svana to be so loyal.

  ‘I don’t care if we go as long as you and I are together.’ Ragn swung the cooking pot on to a tripod and put it close to the fire. The sweetened barley would simmer until it was needed. ‘What do I think of men and their notions anyway? They have caused me nothing but trouble in recent years.’

  ‘I have caused you more trouble than anyone.’

  Instant remorse stabbed Ragn. She put an arm about her. ‘You are my only sister and I have loved you since the day you were born, Svana. Run off and see how the servants are getting on in the hall. Be my eyes and ears while I ensure the meal is actually edible.’

  ‘I will go tell the nisser not to play any tricks. Today is far too important.’ She called to the dogs to follow her. They trotted along at her heels.

  Ragn shook her head. If anyone had told her back in Viken that Svana could recover this quickly from her trauma, she wouldn’t have believed them. This place had been good for her sister. Only they would have to leave it. Soon. She couldn’t see Gunnar’s wife allowing them to stay on. An illogical hatred of the unknown woman filled her. She would indeed be the paragon of grace and beauty Gunnar sought, instead of an awkward woman like her. She contented herself with slamming plates and horns down until she had control of her emotions.

  She cast a practised eye over the kitchen. The giant cauldron was bubbling with the hog’s meat. Three chickens, salmon and the pork. The remainder of the cloudberries could be added to the porridge for a substantial pudding. A feast worthy of her old reputation as one of the best hostesses in Viken. A bit of stock fish would add to the feast, though.

  ‘Ragnhild, someone else can prepare that.’ Gunnar took the pot of soaking stock fish from her fingers. ‘We need to speak.’

  And Ragn knew her time of reckoning had come.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Before you say anything, that man practically invited himself.’ She dumped the remaining cloudberries into the barley porridge. ‘Sending him away would have raised his suspicions about why you wanted him gone quickly. This way he can only say good things about the table you keep. Please. I know what I am doing.’

  Gunnar’s mouth became a thin white line. He beckoned her into a small alcove away from the servant girls who pretended to be busy with the cauldron. There was hardly enough space for the two of them. Her body tingled with awareness of his nearness. Ragn damped it down. Acting on that awareness was not going to happen, not while he simmered with anger.

  ‘I know exactly what happened. I was there.’ His breath caressed her ear, making the butterflies swoop in her stomach. He stood two steps closer than he needed to be.

  His voice flowed like new honey instead of being ice-cold. She’d expected anger and instead she had this—Gunnar regarding her with an expectant air and speaking in a silky voice. She crossed her arms over her suddenly aching breasts and forced herself to think of the unknown woman, the one who’d have a winning smile and plentiful curves, the one who’d make Gunnar’s eyes light up when he claimed her as his true bride.

  She pointedly cleared her throat. ‘I’ve saved your hall twice over today. He anticipates breaking inferior bread with you, but we both know my food is superior. He will leave a friend and an ally.’

  ‘Everything was under control until you started speaking.’ His brow lowered and the stern Gunnar returned. Ragn heaved a sigh of relief. She could deal with him being grumpy, not the softer Gunnar whose eyes held a distinct twinkle. ‘The man assumes you are my bride!’

  ‘And you failed to correct him!’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Keep your voice down unless you wish for him to discover his assumption was wrong.’

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. ‘There were reasons why I wanted him to leave. There are things we need to discuss and make right.’

  ‘His was a logical enough assumption to make.’ Ragn shrugged. The words ‘make right’ held a distinctly poor ring. He was going to insist Svana and she took refuge in Ile after all. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that he considered me your wife rather than your concubine. It could have gone either way.’

  His gaze travelled over her from where wisps of hair escaped from her kerchief, down past her meagre curves to where the tips of her boots peeked out. Ragn resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders. He turned away from her. ‘You do not have the appearance of a concubine.’

  The remark cut her in a way that Hamthur’s insults never had. ‘Should I be flattered or annoyed by your pronouncement? I suppose it depends on if I ever wanted to play the concubine for you.’ She pretended to consider the matter. ‘Can’t say that I have. I will take it as a compliment. I look like a wife. Excellent.’

  His face hardened to icy planes. ‘My tongue has always been blunt. I make no secret of it. Why the sudden seeking of compliments? You have always seemed more like a man than a woman in that respect.’

  She kep
t her head upright. More like a man. Proof of his utter disinterest in her. That small faint hope she had of convincing him she was indeed the woman he wanted as his wife disappeared completely. She should be happy. Grumpy Gunnar was a known prospect, but her middle filled with a dull ache from the empty place it left behind. She hadn’t even realised that a hope existed until it vanished. She clenched her hand until her nails made half-moon shapes in her palms.

  ‘Men prefer concubines to wives. They lust after them. They dedicate songs to them. Wives are for making sure estates run smoothly and for looking after children. Without looks wives must have large dowries—something to entice a man. I’ve nothing.’

  ‘I’ve no time for your trivial concerns. The difference between a wife and concubine! Of all the things you try to distract me with, you chose this! The gods grant me patience!’

  Ragn struggled to draw a breath. ‘Concerns? Distractions? My future depends on finding a husband!’

  ‘You can stop your search. Thanks to your actions, Maurr considers you my bride.’

  ‘Thanks to my actions, he did not use your status as a single man to wrestle these lands from you. You should be on your knees thanking me. That shingle out there is not red with your blood. I suspect you very much like having your blood inside your body rather than seeping away on the shingle.’

  He made a disgusted noise.

  ‘There are more ways to influence people than through your favoured approach—brute force and fear.’ The words burst out from deep within her. ‘Women are worth more than simple bed companions. We wives excel at making enemies become friends through the breaking of bread.’

  ‘I will hold my hall, Ragnhild, without your help.’

  Ragn firmed her mouth. He still didn’t trust her ability to help. Getting this feast right would go a long way to demonstrating that she could hold the hall for him when he was gone. ‘Is there some reason you dragged me in here beyond a desire to moan and complain about Maurr? The last thing I need when I am preparing a feast is people moaning. Go back out there and smile, instead of grimacing. You are capable of that much hospitality, aren’t you?’

  His smile was like the sun peeking out from behind a dark cloud and it did strange things to her insides. ‘Who is grouchy now? Your food will be perfection as always. You try to distract me because you fear what I am about to say. Two can play at this game, Ragnhild.’

  ‘What precisely do you require, Lord of this hall?’ She glanced up at him. ‘Better?’

  ‘I require many things from you.’ His searing look made her knees go weak. ‘But right now, I require a wedding.’

  Ragn banged her ear with her hand. Her ability to build dream halls was getting worse. She had started hearing things. ‘A wedding? You require a wedding? To whom? When?’

  ‘I might have allowed a minor confusion over your status. Maurr’s assumptions are meaningless. But I will not lie to my overlord.’

  Ragn’s heart beat faster. He was serious. ‘I never asked you to.’

  ‘We have been summoned to Colbhasa for Jul. We go married. Properly. All choice has gone. We marry with all speed once Maurr departs. Now do you understand why I wanted him gone instead of lingering like the noxious fumes of five-day-old fish? Instead of preparing for a marriage, I have to be hosting a feast for someone I dislike.’

  The air went out of her lungs. He wanted to marry her. More than that, he had just stated they would marry. She put out a hand to steady herself. ‘Just like that. You want me for your bride.’

  ‘I warned you before Maurr set foot on the shore. There would be consequences.’

  ‘And the going north in the spring?’ she whispered. ‘Do you intend for this marriage to last?’

  ‘Why should I go now?’ He gave a shrug which emphasised the broadness of his shoulders. ‘We are used to each other, even when you chatter incessantly. You will have a home for your sister. And I... I will have porridge with cloudberries for breakfast. I will celebrate Jul in my house, including singing songs.’

  Ragn had to smile. ‘Is porridge without cloudberries that terrible?’

  ‘I’ve given in to my fate. Will you give in to yours?’

  Given in to his fate. Ragn pursed her lips. ‘You make it seem like a death sentence.’

  His eyes slid away from her. ‘Perhaps it is. Perhaps you should be afraid.’

  ‘Why? You are a good man.’

  ‘I am a cursed man. I may have already brought a curse down on your head.’

  The words hung between them. Ragn could see that Gunnar’s face held no trace of mockery or good humour, only severe intent. He believed in this curse.

  ‘How can you be cursed? You have your health. You have your hall. Your men look up to you.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it remains. All my family perished after I killed a soothsayer.’

  ‘Did you have good reason for killing him?’

  ‘He had molested young girls and wanted to sacrifice them brutally. I was young. I objected.’

  ‘I am pleased you objected.’

  ‘But with his dying words, he cursed me and my family.’

  She shook her head at his obstinacy. Why couldn’t he see what had happened to him? ‘These soothsayers and witch women cause much mischief with their predictions. I stopped believing in curses somewhere in that dark night when I was running for my life. If you are supposed to be dead, every day is a blessing.’

  ‘All the women in my family died. They will always die. I had no desire to have your death on my conscience, but it cannot be helped—we must marry.’

  Ragn stared directly into his blue-flecked eyes. Her heart thumped in her ears. For a man who professed not to believe in superstition, he certainly gave the opposite impression. Svana was not going to cause Vargr’s death or stop a storm whipping up out to sea and it would take more than whispered words to kill her. ‘It is how you respond to that curse which is important. Curses only have power if you give them that power.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘Svana and I would be at the bottom of sea if not for you.’ She held out her hands, but he did not take them. ‘I owe you our lives. Ask me again if I believe in your so-called curse.’

  His mouth worked up and down.

  ‘Then it is agreed. We marry, despite the curse.’

  ‘You treat it too lightly.

  ‘I’ll take the consequences.’ Ragn dusted her hands on her apron. ‘When shall our marriage take place? If Maurr discovers the deception, he’ll take it badly.’

  ‘Straight after he leaves. I agree with your assessment of Maurr.’

  ‘Done.’ She held out her hand and attempted to control the thudding of her heart. ‘We keep this from Svana until the last possible moment. She has trouble with keeping secrets.’

  ‘Does she indeed? I would never have guessed.’

  He ignored the hand and watched her mouth. She passed her tongue again over her parched lips, wondered what his lips would feel like. ‘Aren’t you going to take my hand?’

  ‘A kiss would be more appropriate. We are to be married.’

  A kiss? She froze. All Hamthur’s jibes about appearance and her disappointing bed-sport flooded back. She wanted it to be different with Gunnar, but feared it wouldn’t be. After she’d lost the baby, Hamthur had blamed her for everything.

  Ragn retreated two steps. Her feet became entangled in her skirts and she tumbled on to her bottom.

  ‘You are head over heels about this?’ He gave a slight laugh. His strong fingers curled about hers. The shock of awareness flooded through her. She snatched her hand away. She hurriedly scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt and apron as she did so.

  ‘I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’ve lingered here for far too long.’ Her voice sounded husky to her ears. ‘I hadn’t expected a kiss. I... I thought things would continue as they were. Th
ey work as they are now. I keep watch over Svana at night in case her fits return.’

  The tension in her neck eased. She had given the perfect excuse for why she needed to keep her distance. She’d experienced enough humiliation at Hamthur’s hands to risk a repeat. Her heart kept whispering that Gunnar was a much better man than Hamthur.

  ‘Svana is much improved. Is there a reason you do not seek my bed?’

  Reason? She named several in her mind, starting with his lack of desire for her and ending with how she always killed passion, according to Hamthur. ‘Are you threatening to use force?’

  He lifted a brow. ‘Are you saying you are not attracted to me?’

  She wrapped her arms about her pulsing middle and slowly shook her head. ‘My husband—’ she began to say and swallowed the words at his fierce expression.

  ‘Whatever your late husband did, I believe we can safely say that it was in the past. I will give you time if you need it to mourn him.’

  She gave a strangled laugh. He thought she still mourned Hamthur. Perhaps she could use that as an excuse? She gave her mind a shake. She was not hiding behind his ghost. ‘I have never asked you to.’

  He ran a finger along her lips, making them tingle. ‘You should know that I have never forced a woman and I have no plans to start. Should something happen between us, then it will happen because it is your choice. My promise to you.’

  Never forced a woman. The accusations that Hamthur had thrown at her—how she had unmanned him, how she was awful in bed—resounded in her mind. After the first month, he’d only ever come to her bed when he was drunk. She had to hope that Gunnar would be better. At least he made no pretence about loving her. ‘Then we are fine. We know the boundaries.’

  ‘Can you risk a kiss?’ The dimple shone in the corner of his mouth. ‘Or are you too busy with your feast preparations?’

  ‘Is it the only way to seal our agreement to marry?’