The Temperate Warrior
by
Renee Vincent
The Warrior Sagas
The Temperate Warrior
Copyright © 2012, Renee Vincent
Digital ISBN: 9781622370924
Editor, Ayla O’Donovan
Cover Art Design by Erin Sendelbach
Electronic release, December, 2012
Trade Paperback release, Month, Year
Turquoise Morning, LLC
P.O. Box 43958
Louisville, KY 40253-0958
www.turquoisemorningpress.com
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the publisher, Turquoise Morning Press.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
About the Author
Coupon!
Turquoise Morning Press
Dedication
For God, who is my strength and my constant companion.
For Kim Jacobs,
As I took those first steps in my writing career, you were always beside me, and I will never forget that. Your encouragement, guidance, and friendship are beyond compare. Thank you for taking me under your wing.
Praise for Renee Vincent’s Writing
“Deliciously sinful!”
~Maddie James, bestselling author of Broken
“Enriched with vivid descriptions, well-drawn complex characters, an exhilarating plot, humor, plot twists, danger and sizzling romance, this story is realistic, historically accurate and unforgettable; a story you will remember long after the last page is read.”
5 Stars! ~ Romance Junkies
“A must-read for anyone who enjoys historical romance.”
5 Heart Sweetheart Award ~ The Romance Studio
“If you’ve never heard of the name Renee Vincent, then you’re missing out on quality reading that’s worth every second of your undivided attention. It’s an escapists dream, and I will most certainly be back for more.”
5 Star TOP PICK ~ Night Owl Reviews
The Temperate Warrior
He was her champion. She was his weakness.
Together, they loved with wild abandon.
Gustaf Ræliksen lives by the blade of his sword. After avenging his father’s murder and reuniting with his family, he wants nothing more than to settle down and have sons of his own. Only one woman will do—a fiery redhead he saved from the spoils of war.
No longer forced to warm the beds of the men who’ve taken everything from her, Æsa has nothing to offer the noble warrior but her heart.
When someone with a deep score to settle seeks revenge upon her, Gustaf’s world is torn asunder. He has but one vow—saving the woman he loves from the ignorant fool who dared to best the temperate warrior.
Glossary of Norse Terms
Berserker: Elite force of Viking warriors, often cloaked in animal skins to portray an image of intimidation and fierceness.
Boxbed: Long bed for sleeping that ran along the lengths of the outer walls of a longhouse, often times doubling as benches during the daylight hours.
Drakkar/Langskip: Viking longship (swift warship with very shallow draft).
Freyja: “goddess of love and beauty.”
Hel: Viking hell.
Hirdmen: Army of Viking men.
Loki: “god of lies” “promoter of deceit.”
Mørketid: Also known as “polar night.” A season of winter above the Arctic Circle where the sun, even at its highest, doesn’t rise above the horizon.
Odin: “god of victory and wisdom.”
Passager: Any young bird that can already fly and is taken while it is still in its first-year plumage.
Seið-kona: Practitioner of witchcraft, from shamanic magic to prophecy, from healing to channeling and more.
Skerpikjøt: Wind-dried mutton native only to the Faroe Islands.
Straw Death: To die at home in bed. It was considered a dishonorable death among Vikings, for fighting men were expected to show contempt for any death short of dying fearless in battle if they wished to enter into Valhalla.
Thor: “god of thunder and justice.”
Thrall: Slave.
Valhalla: “Eternal Heaven of Heroes.”
Chapter One
923 A.D.
North Atlantic, West of Norway
Gustaf Ræliksen crumpled the pretty embroidered cloth in his fist and brought it to his nose, breathing in the lingering scent of lavender and primrose one last time before tucking it back inside the sleeve of his tunic. He looked out over the calm deep-blue water as he approached the Orkneys, torn between steering his longship toward the Faroe Islands and sailing eastward toward Skíringssalr, where his loyal men’s families lived.
On the Faroes waited the woman he’d left behind—his dearest Æsa.
For over twenty-three years, Gustaf and his men had been scouring the known world for ten cowards, hired under King Harold ‘the Fairhair’, who had killed his father. He had never dreamed that hunting down an ensemble of spineless men would take most of his adult life. Though the small band of freelance murderers were anything but stealthy, they certainly knew how to make themselves scarce, often taking refuge in places unfit for humans. Lands so cold and barren, only a marked man would dare to go.
Desperation can do that to a man, especially when one knows a dreadful fate awaits. No one in their right mind would want to die in the manner Gustaf had deemed necessary. His father had been hung from the rafters in his barn by his own intestines, and nothing less had been dealt forth toward his foes.
From the time he left home to avenge his father at the age of eighteen, Gustaf had not stopped until every last one of them had been found and left to die in the same agonizing manner. However, if not for his seven hirdmen aboard the vessel, he would have never been able to fulfill his duty as a loyal son. It was because of their dedication to the cause that he made haste to reunite his steadfast friends with their families. It was the least he could do for their undaunted stretch of devotion and service. But his heart ached to throw duty overboard and storm up the east coast of Skúvoy, seeking out the owner of the kerchief in his possession.
He’d been fortunate enough to find Æsa when he sto
rmed into the longhouse of one of his father’s murderers a few months prior. He’d given Ragnar, son of Thorrstein, the chance to offer up the last coward’s name in exchange for a swift death. Ragnar refused and, thus, his gruesome fate had been handed to him without delay.
Though Gustaf had not gained a name, he didn’t leave empty-handed. He’d taken the young, shapely redhead from the dead man’s possession. And why not? A dead man has no need for a beautiful woman in his bed.
Gustaf smiled as he recalled the way Æsa had looked at him as they sailed away from Iceland’s inhospitable shores. There was wanton lust in her eyes, but even he could see the underlying relief hiding behind their bewitching color. She’d been a slave to Ragnar’s wishes, a harlot for many years of her life, and he could only imagine the disgrace and abuse she underwent being his lowly thrall.
Those days were over.
Gustaf had claimed Æsa for his own and his equal. He’d made it very clear he would never share her with another man. To his delight, she’d promised to take no one but him, as well, to her bed.
Perhaps he was a fool to believe her, but he did. During the few weeks he’d spent with her, hiding in a deserted longhouse along the outskirts of the small settlement of Skúvoy, she’d given him no reason to deem otherwise. The conversations they’d fallen into, and the intimate moments they’d shared amid a warm crackling fire, were things he had never given up for anyone, save her. By rights, she should have been sickened by the harshness of his past actions, if not intimidated by the determination of his mission. But she seemed to have taken pity on him, seeing the real man behind the chain mail and leather, protected with sword and shield.
No amount of armor could have guarded him from the sweet invasion of Æsa’s innocent love. She was like a child, youthful and pure. Yet, on the same token, a skilled seductress, shameless and brazen. In his heart and mind, they were a perfect match. She’d even bestowed unto him a pet name—her temperate warrior.
The thought of that endearing term coming from Æsa’s supple lips warmed him, though he was anything but temperate. He hadn’t hidden his terrible past from her or the wicked things he’d done in avenging his father’s murder. By the time they’d parted ways, she knew everything and still she touched his cheek with delicate hands, whispering her sweet promises in his ear before he’d left.
I will wait for you, my temperate warrior. No matter how long you are absent from my arms, I will wait.
Gustaf took a deep breath of the crisp sea air, trying to push aside his longing for the woman he so direly missed. He glanced one last time at the islands behind him and made a silent vow that he would return.
Affirming his grip on the steerboard, he looked ahead, dutifully staying the course. The wind had picked up on the open sea and the need for rowing had diminished. Several of his men had resorted to keeping themselves busy within the hull of the ship. A few were sharpening daggers, a couple more were quietly discussing the simple pleasures they missed and which ones they planned to treat themselves with first. But Jørgen, his closest friend, looked as if he were fighting boredom. He had been eyeing Gustaf ever since they’d hoisted the heavy pine mast into its chink hole and rigged the single woolen sail against it.
Jørgen finally arose from his rowing bench and approached Gustaf at the stern. “Permission to speak, my lord.”
The corner of Gustaf’s mouth slightly raised in a smile. “Your service to me ended the moment Gunnar Havlocksen took his last breath. There is no need to address me as your master. You are free to speak your heart’s content, my friend.”
An air of haughtiness overtook Jørgen. “Noting your request, I demand you turn this langskip around.”
Gustaf cocked his head, regarding his friend’s terse statement. “And why would I do that?”
“I am not a fool. I have seen the magnitude of yearning for the woman you are leaving behind as you navigate us toward home. If not for this burden, you would have already burst through her door.”
“If not for you, I would not have a woman to come home to.”
“Indeed,” Jørgen admitted. “But ‘tis not fair to put your men before yourself. You have been more than generous to us. Not only with payment for our services but for the sacrifices you have made on our behalf.”
“My sacrifices pale in comparison to the ones you and the others have made for me. I will not ask any of you to offer more so that I may selfishly gratify my desires. You have been kept from your families far longer than I care to admit and I will not coerce you to wait longer.”
“What you say is true. We have been without the comfort of our families, the embraces of our children while they were small, and the warmth of our women in our beds. Through the years it has felt as if forever has passed since we’ve taken in those simple joys. We have withstood eternity. What is one more day?”
Gustaf felt his resolve slip a notch. The sound of Jørgen’s offer weighed heavily on his right hand, the temptation to steer the ship southward encumbering his sense of duty. He shook his head in adamancy. “One more day is one more too long. If I could steal control of the wind from the gods, I would have already dragged keel in Skíringssalr by now and we would not be having this discussion.”
“If you could steal any power from the gods, my lord, I doubt it would be something as frivolous as the wind. I would imagine you would have robbed Thor of his hammer and taken out your father’s murderers single-handedly with one swift blow and none of us would be slave to this bloody ship.”
Gustaf scoffed, pondering that image. “There is a thought.”
Jørgen glanced over his shoulder at the eager men who grew intent with the conversation at hand. Speaking for them, he turned back around and looked Gustaf in the eye. “Through the many years we have spent together, are we not your brothers?”
“Of course.”
“Then as your brother, I cannot bear the thought of saying our farewells in haste.”
Gustaf saw a trace of emotion welling in Jørgen’s eyes.
“I know I speak selfishly, but I am not willing to part ways with you, my lord. It would not feel right in my heart to step off this vessel and let you leave us behind like cargo of little importance…to watch you sail away without…” His voice broke under the strain of his emotions. “Reuniting with my family would not be the same if you were not there to share in my joy. I am only asking for you to spend a few days with us before you set sail for Inis Mór. Please, I beg you. Turn this langskip around and bring Æsa with us. At first light, tomorrow morn, we can sail for Skíringssalr together.”
Gustaf clasped Jørgen’s other shoulder, feeling his friend’s pain. “Speak no more, my brother,” he offered with a sympathetic smile. “I had not given thought to parting with you and what it would mean to sail without your company.” Gustaf extended his hand, gesturing toward his entire crew. “Without all of you at my side. My mind had wandered somewhere else, buried in a woman’s embrace, it seems. I am a man. Can you blame me?”
Hardy chuckles collected within the hull and it felt good to hear his men laugh.
“Does this mean you will accept my offer?” Jørgen asked, his face frozen with anticipation.
Gustaf’s heart skipped a beat as he thought of seeing his Æsa this day. “Lower the mast. We sail for Skúvoy.”
Chapter Two
Æsa stepped into the brisk afternoon air, the cool breeze meeting her face. She breathed in the fresh sea salt coming off the North Atlantic. Autumn had come and she knew winter would soon nip at its heels. With each passing day, she worried over the safety of her warrior lover, Gustaf, gazing out over the ocean for signs of his return.
Counting the days by the cycle of the moon, she determined he had been gone for over a month. It had been the longest stretch of time without his secure presence and, from the moment he had left to save his family and bring vengeance on Gunnar Havlocksen, she’d been lost without him.
She recalled the short weeks that she’d spent with Gustaf, after he
rescued her from the callous hands of Ragnar. He’d known the disgraceful life she’d lived, warming countless men’s beds in exchange for food or shelter. It was a life she’d not chosen willingly. She had been forced to that lowly position at the tender age of ten and four, when her family had been slaughtered by Harold ‘the Fairhair’s’ command. Ripped from her homeland in Norway, she had been thrust into the slave market and bought because of her beauty and what she could provide with her early blossoming body.
Gustaf had known all this, but still he took her in and showed her nothing but kindness. He’d treated her as an equal, asserting she’d never be a slave to any man again, including himself. Choosing of her own free will, she stayed with Gustaf and found more happiness than she’d ever dreamed. She’d found a haven in his arms.
Beneath his tender touch, Æsa had felt like a virgin. His hands, though callused and scarred, caressed her as if she were fragile enough to break. She quickly learned that it was possible for a woman to enjoy the pleasures of lovemaking. To not fear the approach of a man’s naked body and glorify in its raw beauty.
By Gustaf’s noble actions and kind words, Æsa had learned what a real man was and that chivalry actually existed in this dark and dreary age. He had showed her a love she never knew existed. He had instilled in her a sense of worth, a virtue no man had ever dared to offer, and he’d cared enough to see to her needs without expecting anything in return. Those simple deeds helped her to realize that not all men were vile vermin, spawn of Loki. When Gustaf spoke, she knew he meant every word. He had promised to return for her and she held his vow close to her heart. She’d wait forever.
Only a few fortnights into forever, she couldn’t get used to Gustaf’s absence. One would think that a woman who’d been forced to lie with innumerable, fiendish men from her miserable past would welcome the emptiness of a bed. To be grateful for the reprieve of a man’s inexorable sexual desires before she closed her eyes to sleep. But since the first night she’d spent with Gustaf, she became accustomed to the delights of a man’s feral appetite. His craving for flesh upon flesh had grown to be hers, and every night that had passed without his embrace left her feeling desolate and lonely.
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