Sold to the Viking Warrior

by Michelle Styles

  ‘I need Malcolm, Liddy,’ her father said in a low voice. ‘We don’t stand a chance of paying the tribute without him. Your mother can cope without you.’

  Her brother pressed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Liddy. I never thought. I will find a way to get you free.’

  ‘It is fine,’ Liddy said around the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘You are going to have to prove your worth, Malcolm. Get all the harvest in and I go free.’

  ‘I know.’ In that instant Malcolm looked like her little brother again, instead of the would-be warrior. She clearly remembered the tender-hearted little boy who had cried when she married as he was never going to see his beloved Liddy again.

  She moved away from her brother and straightened her back. ‘You need not worry, Fa. I volunteer to be the surety. I believe in your ability to get all the tribute required.’

  ‘That’s my Liddy of old.’ Her father’s elbow nudged Sigurd in an overly familiar way. ‘The courage of a good woman, eh?’

  Sigurd’s features became even more remote. ‘We go now, Eilidith.’

  ‘Coll comes with me. Where I go, he goes. My shield and my comfort.’

  Coll gave a sharp bark of agreement before darting over to Sigurd and flopping down at his feet in rapt adoration.

  Sigurd’s lips twitched briefly upwards before setting into a stern line. ‘Your dog approves of the arrangement.’

  Her father’s eyes darted between her and Sigurd. He cleared his throat. Liddy instantly distrusted that throat clearing. She had seen it before when he sold horses and thought he had a gullible customer. She wanted to reach out and tell him to be quiet. Sigurd was not a man to be cheated.

  ‘Of course, I might be willing to sell my daughter,’ her father said, rubbing his chin. ‘You may have her in lieu of this year’s harvest.’

  She blinked twice. Her own father was prepared to sell her? As a slave? Hostage was bad enough, but she had never reckoned on being gifted as a slave. ‘Fa! You have no right!’

  Her father gave an exasperated sigh. ‘There will be grave consequences if the full tribute is not paid.’

  ‘But you can pay it.’

  ‘You refused the convent, Liddy, and who will have you after you have spent time in the Northman’s household? If this Northman will not take you, there is always the open market after I redeem you. You are acting like one of the living dead.’

  Liddy balled her fists. Her father was behaving irrationally. The time in prison had addled his brain. She had refused the convent that Brandon wanted for her, the one which would beat the devil out of her. ‘If you are trying to be funny, you are not succeeding.’

  ‘I am deadly serious, Daughter. Paying tribute is my most important act. It is not just your future, but the entire future of Cennell Fergusa. For a king, the cennell must be more important than his immediate family. He has a responsibility to all his people.’

  ‘And what will my mother say?’

  ‘Your mother will refuse to speak to me for a week, but she will come to understand. She knows the need for sacrifice.’

  ‘I volunteered to be a hostage, not a slave,’ Liddy cried. ‘A hostage has certain rights. A slave has none.’

  ‘You offer your daughter as tribute?’ Sigurd asked in a tone chipped from last winter’s ice.

  ‘Aye,’ her father said heavily. ‘I may have to sell her on the open market to raise the amount required if the harvest fails. She will fetch a pretty price. Worth her weight in silver and gold is my Eilidith. Her housekeeping skills are second to none. How can I look my people in the eye if I lose these lands through the action of my children? Duty must come first.’

  Something flickered in Sigurd’s eyes and his face became more carved in stone than ever. ‘I will buy her from you...if the price is right.’

  Her father rubbed his hands together. ‘My price is this year’s tribute. Not a gold coin less.’

  Sigurd’s eyes became blue ice. ‘Half. There are other women.’

  Her father shook his head while Liddy watched in disbelief. Her father was prepared to sell her, as if she was a yearling calf. If anyone else had told her about it, she’d have denied her father capable of such a monstrous thing, but here he was, haggling worse than a fishwife.

  ‘Without my daughter, you would be outside this fort, possibly dead. Eighty per cent is the lowest I would be prepared to go.’

  Time ceased to have any meaning. Liddy kept a grip on Coll. The dog gave her hand a lick.

  ‘Three-quarters and I take the dog as well. My final offer.’

  ‘Coll belongs to me!’ The words burst from Liddy’s throat. ‘He is not for sale!’

  Sigurd’s face became grim and unyielding. ‘If Eilidith is merely a hostage and you fail, Gilbreath mac Fergusa, I will take everything. Ring from Ketil or not.’

  Her father gave her an unhappy look. ‘I have to take the offer, Liddy. I will accept the price. You, my lord, now own my only daughter and her dog. The rest of the tribute will be paid at the harvest.’

  Sigurd snapped his fingers and a piece of rope was brought. He tied it in a loop and put it over Liddy’s head.

  Liddy knew then that there would be no going back home. Her home had gone for ever. With a few words, her father had abandoned her. No, more than abandoned her, he had sold her.

  She was Sigurd’s slave. She belonged to a Northman.

  Chapter Five

  Sigurd struggled to contain his anger. At Eilidth’s father. At himself. Instead of bidding goodbye to the woman who had helped defeat Thorbin, he had made her first a hostage and then a slave. He wasn’t sure who he despised more—her father for selling or himself for buying.

  He’d always sworn that he wouldn’t be like his father in that way and yet all choice had been taken from him. Sigurd renewed the vow he’d made standing beside his parents’ funeral pyre—until he became greater than his father ever was, he would keep his heart safe. Unlike his mother, he knew how much love could hurt.

  ‘I will give you time to make your goodbyes, Liddy.’

  Her eyes flashed a deep sea-green. ‘Should I be on my knees thanking you for that as well?’

  Not trusting his temper, Sigurd tossed the rope to Hring, who hastily caught it. ‘When she has finished saying goodbye, bring her and the dog to my hall.’

  ‘Shall I cut her hair, Lord?’ Hring asked, drawing his brows together in a disapproving frown. ‘Make the lady more like the slave she now is?’

  ‘Eilidith keeps her hair. I may wish to run my hands through it.’ Sigurd turned on his heel and marched away, ignoring Liddy’s horrified gasp. She would learn who was master here.

  Liddy struggled to breathe. Sigurd had bought her and he wanted her the way a man wanted a woman. She shook her head to clear the buzzing sound. Obviously, he had taken a knock on the head during his fight. Men did not want her in that way. She went over her lack of charms again, about why she was doomed to never please a man in bed. Brandon had confirmed it after the twins were born and then again after they died. Then she hadn’t minded as much, as she never wanted him to touch her again.

  Coll gave a low growl in the back of his throat as Hring started to lead them away. Hring dropped the rope. ‘Keep your dog under control.’

  ‘I am allowed to say goodbye. Sigurd gave the order.’

  The old warrior gave her a look almost akin to pity. ‘You have a little time. Make your goodbyes. Then come find me. I can’t abide such things.’

  He strode away, shaking his head.

  ‘Well now, Eilidith, I think that went very well indeed,’ her father said with a smug smile. ‘You will make a lot of people happy. Maybe my mother was right after all. Maybe an angel did touch you at birth.

  ‘This is how you treat me?’ Angel-touched indeed. ‘After everything I have done for you
? This is my reward? Being sold like I am a bag of grain or a flock of sheep?’

  ‘A prized cow?’ her brother said.

  Liddy balled her fists. ‘You wait, Malcolm. I will get free and you will be laughing on the other side of your misbegotten face.’

  ‘I need to be pragmatic and put the needs of the cennell first,’ her father said in an undertone. ‘I know the state of the fields as well as you. One day you will understand.’

  ‘I will never thank you!’

  ‘Sometimes God provides an opportunity. An answer to my prayers. I must give thanks to the monks for finding a way out of my dilemma. A story I heard in my youth provided me with the way. These Northmen can be sentimental at times.’ He paused. ‘You have become my old feisty Liddy, the one who fought so hard to save her children.’

  Liddy tucked her chin into her shoulder. ‘I lost that fight.’

  ‘Your husband tried to extinguish that spark. I feared he had and a daughter who is more dead than alive has little use. But the saviour of the cennell? Now that is a daughter worth having and you will save us, Liddy. I can see that now. Your mark is a blessing and not a curse.’

  ‘I was willing to be a hostage, but not a slave,’ she whispered. ‘Your experience has addled your wits. If being sold for a slave by your father isn’t a curse, what is?’

  Her father hung his head. ‘The tribute Thorbin set is too great. Everything would have gone. This gives us a chance. You can do us proud. Soften his heart towards us.’

  ‘But surely we have gold. The treasure you buried when the Northmen first came...you can use that.’

  Her father pressed his hand to hers and leant in. ‘I sent the gold to Kells, so that the monks would pray for us. Our immortal souls were in danger. I will send the necklace as well. You need all the help you can get, but I trust you will prevail.’

  Liddy stared at her father in astonishment. Was he truly that unworldly? When she’d been small, he had run his tiny kingdom reasonably well, but now she had to wonder—what sort of man sold his children after giving gold to the church?

  ‘You should have consulted me. We have nothing to spare. That necklace could pay for most of the remaining tribute.’

  ‘I am doing what is best for everyone, Liddy. Neither of us has a choice. Some day you will understand. Your mother understands.’

  ‘Will she understand that you sold your only daughter?’

  ‘Your mother understands my responsibility extends beyond my immediate family.’ Her father patted her arm. ‘You have been given an opportunity. Use it. He appears to like your dog which is more than Brandon did.’

  She gave an unhappy nod, but it bothered her that she would have tried to pay whatever price to keep him from slavery and he had so readily sold her.

  ‘Calm yourself before you explode, Liddy,’ her father said, putting an arm about her shoulders. ‘We have little time. There are things to discuss.’

  Liddy shrugged off the arm. ‘You sold me! You would have put me on the open market. There is nothing to discuss!’

  ‘Liddy, stop being so overly dramatic,’ Malcolm said. ‘You will find a solution. You always do.’

  Liddy took three steps backwards. Her brother and father seemed delighted by the turn of events. They had no consideration for her or her future. She had risked everything for them and this was how they repaid her.

  ‘You ought to be ashamed.’

  Malcolm mumbled an almost inaudible apology. Her father continued to smile benevolently at her as if he had given her some great gift. Over his shoulder, she could see Hring advancing towards her. Her time was up.

  ‘Give my love to our mother, Malcolm,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Keep the faith, Liddy.’ Her brother leant in. ‘If I can think of a way to free you, I will send word.’

  ‘You have already done enough. Go before they shut the gate.’

  Her father and brother stumbled towards the gate, but Liddy remained where she was. Hring could come to her.

  Coll looked up at her and she absently stroked his ears.

  ‘I might have freed them, but I have enslaved myself.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I might be a slave, but I was born a free woman and I shall die free.’

  * * *

  Sigurd paused in his perusal of Thorbin’s effects in the dilapidated bedchamber. It surprised him that his fastidious half-brother had sunk this low.

  The missing gold was nowhere to be seen. He could not believe his half-brother had beggared himself. No, the gold would be hidden somewhere. Once Beyla and the child arrived, he would get the answer. Beyla would be unable to resist the lure of gold.

  He ran his hand through his hair. The last person in the world he wanted to encounter was Beyla Olafdottar. Once he’d loved her and had promised to give her his full devotion. But she had abandoned him for his half-brother. She had chosen comfort and safety over their passion and in doing so taught him a valuable lesson—love did not conquer all despite what his mother believed.

  Ketil’s annoyance at not being able to exact retribution personally would vanish once Sigurd found Thorbin’s hidden gold and then he’d be confirmed as the jaarl. It would be one more step towards becoming part of Ketil’s inner circle. He would be Sigurd the Scavenger no longer.

  It had to be somewhere. This island should be productive, more than productive, a miniature gold mine. All the freight from Ireland to Kintyre went through this island as it bypassed the tricky currents around Jura. The whirlpool there had caused many a shipwreck.

  He made a face. His half-brother had probably spent the bulk of it on drink and gaming. The rest? Gorm’s story about a payment to Ivar the Boneless failed to ring true. Why willingly trade one master for a greedier one? Thorbin was many things, but he knew the value of a good master.

  He ran his hand along the iron-bound trunk’s lid. A pang went through him as he recognised the runes. It had belonged to his paternal grandmother. His mother used to point out the carvings on the lid.

  ‘In here?’ he asked softly.

  On impulse he lifted the lid, but the trunk was empty except for several fine cloaks and a gold-embroidered tunic. His mother had been forced to work a tunic very like that one before she died.

  He turned his mind aside and locked the memory away, as he slammed the lid down. Remembering his mother as a slave was not what he wanted to do. Particularly not now. Not now that he’d done the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do. He’d made a woman a slave and not just any woman, a woman he owed a great debt to. His mother would be ashamed of him.

  ‘Do anything with your life, but make me and your father proud.’

  His father only understood power and his mother believed wholeheartedly in love.

  That was not the reason he’d purchased Liddy. His heart remained intact. He’d been left with little option. He could hardly have Gilbreath mac Fergusa flaunting the law. Or selling her to someone else. Renewed anger flowed through him.

  A little voice in his mind asked if his father had felt the same way when he purchased his mother. He slammed his fists together. He was not his father and he’d never forced a woman. Liddy would have a choice...and it was up to him to ensure that she made the correct choice.

  ‘Here is where I find you.’ Liddy appeared in the doorway with Coll at her side. The twisted piece of rope marked her throat. Her jaw was set and her colour high. Her red hair had escaped from its cover and framed her face, but all warmth and vitality had fled from it. He struggled to remember the woman he’d held in his arms in the hut before the combat, the one who had kissed him with such passion.

  ‘You didn’t wait until you are spoken to.’

  Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. ‘Was I supposed to?’

  ‘Most slaves wait.’

  Her gown highlighted the gentle curves
of her body. Liddy was every inch the proud daughter of a king. In his mind, he could hear his mother’s voice asking him if he knew what he was doing, what he was letting himself in for.

  ‘You gave orders that I was to come here.’ She defiantly tilted her head upwards. ‘I have said my goodbyes. My brother and father have left for home. Good riddance to faithless baggage.’

  Silently he lifted the rope from her neck. The red mark remained, mocking him and reminding him of what he’d done. How he’d given in to his anger at the situation. Or was it that Liddy had made a fight of it?

  ‘Did Hring have to drag you here?’ he ground out, ready to pulverise the other Northman.

  She made a little deprecating gesture with her hand. ‘Why? Is that how you treat slaves? Dragging them behind you? I will remember for the next time, but I walked beside Hring after the first bit. It made it easier for us both.’

  Inwardly he cursed. He’d gone about it wrong. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Your skin should remain unharmed.’

  ‘That is good to know.’ Her mouth held a cynical twist. ‘You are willing to make a woman who helped you a slave, but you don’t want her skin harmed. You must explain your reasoning some time.’

  ‘Do I owe you an explanation?’

  She looked him up and down. ‘It depends on what sort of man you are.’

  Sigurd winced. The barb hurt far more than he expected it to. He had done the right thing. He had done it to protect her, to prevent her father from selling her off to someone else. But with her in this mood, what was the point of explaining it? ‘You serve at my pleasure and it is my pleasure to keep your hair long and your skin unblemished. I may change my mind.’

  ‘My father and brother have departed.’ She held out her arms. Her wrists looked very slender and vulnerable. But there was a defiant tilt to her chin, making the mark on her face tremble like a butterfly about to take flight. ‘You promised freedom when I met you.’