Breton Wolfe
Page 11
Emma turned her attention to Ivar. Her dark eyes flashed as she took in the red haired giant. “Does this savage have a tongue?”
“Aye.” Ivar nodded, adding with a lascivious leer, “Were you not such a harpy I’d show you.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded.
“I am called Ivar the Red, brother of Valdrik Vargr, who has slain both Duke Rudalt and now Count Cornouailles on the field of battle and is rightfully entitled to his spoils.”
“He presumes to claim the county of Quimper?” she asked with a curl of her lip.
“Nay,” he shook his head. “I do.”
“You?” she repeated incredulously.
Hooking his thumbs in his belt, Ivar rocked back on his heels and cast a slow, assessing gaze over the keep and all of its contents before replying with a smirk. “Aye. ’Tis not much, but ‘twill do.” His gaze narrowed, he raked it slowly over her as if appraising livestock for purchase. “As will you.”
“Me?” she snorted.
“Aye. As the new lord of Quimper, I am in need of a woman to keep my house…and warm my bed.”
In a flash, Emma had a dagger poised at his throat. “I think not, savage. I would kill you first.”
Adèle gasped at the speed in which Ivar disarmed Emma, spun her around, and plied her own dagger to her throat. “’Tis but a minor point of negotiation,” he replied with a rumbling chuckle. “In sooth, this wench should have been born a man. For surely beneath her milky white breasts beats the heart of a warrior.” He continued blandly, “Now that the castellan of Quimper is at my mercy, let us discuss my terms.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Never reproach another for his love: It happens often enough that beauty ensnares with desire the wise, while the foolish remain unmoved. - Hávamál
VALDRIK OPENED his eyes to an unfamiliar room. A presence stirred beside him— Adèle.
“You have awakened!” She pressed a cool hand to his face. “Thank God! Your fever has finally broken.”
Where was he? And what was she doing here?
She rose from his side to fetch a cup that she plied to his lips. “You must drink this.”
He averted his head. “I want no more of your foul witch’s potions.” His voice emerged weak and gravelly.
“’Tis only wine,” she said. “As to the others, they were for your good.”
“Where am I?”
“You are in the keep at Quimper. The count is dead.”
He smiled slowly that the gods favored him still. He was alive and his charge had led to victory. “And my brothers?” he asked.
“They are both well. Bjorn has returned to Vannes to act in your absence and Ivar seeks to make himself lord of this place.”
“Seeks? I gave it to him.”
“Mayhap so, but the claim is not uncontested.”
His brow wrinkled. “How is that if the count is dead?”
“He has a daughter, Lady Emma.”
“What of Poher?” he asked. “I commanded Ivar to march on if we prevailed.”
“You need not,” she said. “My brother will not take up arms against you. He is no warrior, Valdrik, and is barely into manhood. Once he hears of your recovery, he will surely seek an allegiance with you. As your wife, I would beg you to honor that request.”
“My wife?” The word tasted foul in his mouth. “You betrayed me.”
“I acted as any other would have done in my stead,” she replied adamantly. “But if I wished you dead, I would not have come here.”
He considered both her words and actions. She was the goddess of his dreams who had come to him in his need, but he could not forgive her treachery. He’d sworn to deal with her accordingly, and would lose the respect of his men if he did not. He’d resolved to put her away when he returned, once he knew whether or not she carried a child. Nevertheless, he was torn. His bitterness was tempered by gratitude for tending his wounds.
“How long have I been in this place?” he asked.
“Three days,” she replied.
His mind was still foggy, but he performed the calculation. A fortnight had passed since they had wed. Was it possible? Would she yet know? “Has your monthly course begun?” he asked.
She look startled by the question. She licked her lips and then shook her head. “Nay. I hadn’t even thought of it until now. It should have come upon me a se’nnight ago.”
“Does it always commence when you expect it?”
“Aye. Since my twelfth summer.”
His heart quicked at the thought that she might have conceived. Did she know his thoughts? Was she lying to protect herself? “Come here,” he said.
She obeyed, perching warily on the edge of the bed just within an armsbreadth. Ignoring the pain in his side, he reached out to her breast, giving it a squeeze.
“What are you doing?” She responded with a wince and a gasp.
“Are they tender?” he asked.
“You want to know if I have conceived?” she voiced his thoughts.
“Have you?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but ’tis possible. One more month will tell for certain.”
“Would you try to rid yourself of it?” he asked bluntly.
“Nay!” she insisted. “I could not do such a thing!”
“Even if it meant giving birth to your enemy’s spawn?”
She cringed at the cutting edge in his voice. She was silent for a long moment, as if trying to compose her thoughts. “I hated you for coming to Brittany,” she said at last. “I did not wish this marriage between us. Nevertheless, I did it for peace. By wedding you I sought to protect Brittany, but even if you had not come, Cornouaille would have turned on Rudalt and bloodshed would have ensued. The duke long suspected he was conspiring to seize Vannes and claim the entire kingdom as his own. By all indications, Rudalt was right. Neither were good men. Both weakened Brittany.”
“And now they are dead,” he said. “I gave them the choice to yield but they chose to fight me. Such is the way of it. The weak will always succumb to the strong.”
“But now the Franks will perceive us as weak and will surely gather as wolves at the door.”
“But you have already let the Norse wolves inside,” he said dryly. “And we keep what we have claimed as ours.”
“Will you indeed keep all that you have claimed?” she asked softly.
He knew what she really asked, but he still didn’t quite know how to answer.
“I took you to wife because I feared dying with no legacy. On the eve of battle a man thinks of his need to leave something behind besides dust and bones.” It was the truth, but not all. He’d been smitten the moment he looked into her eyes, but that was a secret he would take to the grave. “In a month’s time we will know if you carry my child.”
“And if I do not, would you then put me into bondage as you said?”
He shook his head. “If you have not conceived, I will let you retire to a convent.”
She looked up, her expression wary. “And if I have? I would know now if you intend to take my child from me or if I must raise a bastard.”
He collapsed back onto the pillows with a sigh. What to do now? Would he send her away until she gave birth and then take the child? The notion of separating a mother and babe churned his guts.
“This land is in dire need of a strong ruler, Valdrik,” she continued. “Were you not a savage Norseman, I would have wished for one such as you to rule over Brittany. Now the only hope for this kingdom’s survival is an heir from royal blood. If you and I were to have a child, and my brother and Gwened did not, ours would, in truth, be the rightful heir to Brittany.”
He threw his hands up with a sigh. “By Odin’s eye, I don’t know what the devil I should do with you, but I surely won’t keep a wife I cannot trust!”
Adèle averted her gaze to pluck at the coverlet. “You asked me once if I could put all enmity aside. I have already done this. Your brothers could have forced me to come
here, but they could not have forced me to care for you. I did so on my own volition. Had I wished you dead, I could have put anything in my potions and no one would have been the wiser.” She looked up and asked, “Have not my deeds proven the truth of my heart?”
Searching her eyes, he finally asked the question that plagued him most. “Why did you save me, Adèle?
“You would not believe me if I told you,” she said.
“I would know your answer anyway,” he said.
“The thought of your death was as a fist squeezing my heart.”
Her confession had a similar effect on his. “The idea of sending you away does the same thing to me,” he replied.
Had she not proven herself? His men knew that she saved his life. Once they also knew she carried his child, who among them would challenge him for keeping her? He would kill the man who did.
“I have lived so long with war and death, but now I can finally begin to think of life and love.” He slid his hand over her abdomen. “I believe life does grow inside you.”
“And love?” she prompted softly, her gaze seeking his. “Does it grow inside you?”
He realized that she needed reassurance from him, but it was an admission he was loth to make. He’d always believed that love made great fools of otherwise good men. In forgiving her, had he also fallen victim to love’s folly? Mayhap so. It was a humbling acknowledgement. Nevertheless, he forced himself to answer, “I think the seed of it may have taken root.”
“Many seeds require a tender touch to produce fruit.” She leaned down to stroke his face. “Valdrik, I wish for us to bear fruit.”
“Do you?” he pulled her closer, noting the silver and bronze collar around her neck. “You wear the torque.”
“Bjorn told me it was meant as a gift. It was so peculiar to find it on the pillow after the dream I had.”
“What kind of dream?” he asked.
“It was most vivid,” she said, “but I can make no sense of it.”
“Tell me. The Norse believe that what a new bride dreams on her wedding night reveals her future.”
“I saw wolves,” she said. “A massive pack of them were scattered across this land and then suddenly they gathered together to swim across the ocean. Do wolves swim?” she asked.
“About as well as dogs do,” he replied.
“What does it all mean?” she asked.
“Many wolves?” he remarked. “I believe this dream means my seed will bear much fruit. He pulled her down beside him and kissed her lips. “And you will be my garden. My body is yet feeble and weak, but as soon as I am able, I will plow my wife’s lush and verdant fields.”
She gazed back at him with a grin. “Then I much look forward to your full recovery.”
EPILOGUE
Much have I fared, much have I found. Much have I got from the gods.
- The Ballad of Vafthruthnir
Vannes, Kingdom of Brittany- nine months later
HIS BROTHERS stood by Valdrik’s side as the priest uttered the final invocation that would dedicate the souls of his offspring to the Holy Trinity. Valdrik had named each of his brothers as godfather to his twin sons, Viggo and Vidar, and had earlier made two sacrifices to Allfather on the altar he’d resurrected for his private worship. As the ruler of a united Brittany, he knew he must adhere to their traditions and beliefs, but he refused to revoke his own. His heart swelled with love and pride as Adèle kissed each tiny forehead before handing the babes back to their nurses, Mathilda and Agnes. With the love of his beautiful wife and two hardy sons to follow after him, he was truly a man blessed by the gods.
Much had changed in the months since he and his men had come into Brittany. Many of his warriors had taken wives from among the Breton maids, and Ivar was managing the affairs of Quimper, albeit in constant conflict with Lady Emma. Having pledged his fealty, Poher remained under Adèle’s brother, with Bjorn acting nominally as seneschal to ensure their continued loyalty. For the first time in many years, Brittany was united.
Given Robert of Neustria’s ambition to the Frankish crown, it was only a matter of time before the politics once more shifted. But he stood in readiness to counter any threat to their sovereignty. Valdrik smiled. All was right in the world.
Bjorn appeared by his side looking anything but joyous. “I would speak with you, Brother,” he said.
“Why so grim on this happy occasion?” Valdrik asked with a laugh. “You look as if Ragnarök is at hand.”
“For me it is the end of the world as I know it.” Bjorn murmured, casting a wary look in Count Poher’s direction.
Valdrik instantly sobered. “Is that so, brother? Then let us walk to a place where we can speak privately.”
Valdrik directed his brother toward the harbor where they gazed out at the seemingly endless sea. They stood on the cliff top for several minutes before Valdrik broke the silence “Sometimes when I come here, I can see the longships of our ancestors who first discovered this place. I was already past my tenth summer when we arrived with our father on such a ship, yet I can barely remember our homeland, do you recall it?” he asked Bjorn.
“I also have only vague remembrances of it,” Bjorn replied.
“What troubles you?” Vladrik prompted at length.
“There is a matter that weighs heavily on my heart, one to which I perceive no good solution,” Bjorn began. “For weeks I have prayed and made many sacrifices to Allfather in a quest for wisdom, but the only answer tears at my heart.”
“What is this great burden?” Valdrik asked.
“I must ask to be released of my oath of allegiance to you.”
Valdrik spun on his brother. “You ask what?”
“I can no longer pledge my life to your sevice, Valdrik. There is now another to whom I owe an even greater allegiance, one who has a more rightful claim than yours to Brittany.”
END
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ABOUT VICTORIA VANE
Victoria Vane is an Amazon #1 bestselling author of smart and sexy romance. Her works range from comedic romps to emotionally compelling erotic romance and have received over twenty awards and nominations to include: a 2015 Red Carpet Finalist for Best Contemporary romance (Slow Hand), 2014 RONE Winner for Best Historical Post Medieval Romance (Treacherous Temptations), and Library Journal Best E-Book romance of 2012 (The Devil DeVere series).
Victoria also writes romantic historical fiction as Emery Lee. She currently resides in Palm Coast, Florida with her husband, two sons, a little black dog, and an Arabian horse.
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