Passion's Fury (Viking's Fury Book 3)

by Violetta Rand

  She smiled. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Tis my duty to keep you safe.”

  That was the last thing she wanted to hear from the ridiculously handsome warrior. She’d rather he kissed her and held her close. “Thank you.”

  He rubbed his chin. “For what?”

  “For getting rid of Olvir.”

  He nodded. “The past has a way of catching up, doesn’t it?”

  “A very much unwanted past,” she admitted.

  “I cannot account for your taste in men, Lady Runa. But as long as I am within earshot, no one will insult you without answering to me.”

  There he was again, the honor-bound Thorolf. Though she truly appreciated it, she wanted to see the other side of this man. The one who let his guard down and overindulged in drink, laughed uncontrollably, challenged his brother-in-arms to a wrestling match, fondled a beautiful girl … the kind of man who lived dangerously sometimes. But after observing him closely for nearly a year, she doubted he did any of those things.

  “Tis a lovely evening.” She hugged her middle and gazed up at the star-filled sky.

  “Aye,” he agreed. “On a night such as this, one cannot doubt the existence of the gods. Allfather is mighty.”

  “Yes,” she said, visually worshipping him while he focused on the heavens. “He surely is.” Especially if he made you in his image.

  Chapter Four

  Olvir walked through the main entrance of his father’s longhouse, unprepared for the scathing reception he knew he’d get if he got caught. Most of the guards were drunk and awake, playing a game of dice at the high table with his sire. Thralls were standing at the ready with pitchers of mead, expected to refill their master’s cup without him having to ask.

  Hoping to go unnoticed, Olvir cringed when his father yelled his name as he reached the stairs to the loft above where he slept. “Olvir, my only useless son.”

  The insults were common enough before he’d left for Northumbria, but had become more frequent since his return—since his father found out he wasn’t a natural fighter. “Father.”

  “Come here, Boy.”

  “I am tired.”

  “Is that a blatant refusal to obey your commanding officer?” his sire slurred.

  Olvir rolled his eyes. “You are my father, not a captain.”

  “I am your blasted jarl!” Otkel slammed his massive fist on the tabletop. “Come. Drink. Roll the dice.”

  Knowing it futile to walk away, Olvir slowly approached the table. Fifteen bearded men regarded him.

  “Hail our future lord,” one of the soldiers said as he buried his face in the mouth of his drinking vessel.

  “Why is there ice in your beard?” his father asked, studying him. “Has the temperature dropped that much since I last went outside to piss?” He staggered to his feet, knocking his chair over.

  “No, Father.” Olvir chose to get it over with. The sooner he confessed what happened, the quicker he’d be able to go to bed. “I walked home.”

  “In the deep snow? Where is your pony?”

  Short in stature like his mother, even Olvir’s two younger sisters were taller than him. A lasting embarrassment for his family. “I ride a horse, Father.”

  “If you can call that brown beast a horse.”

  “Call it a bloody cat if you prefer,” Olvir shot back.

  The soldiers laughed, waiting to see how his sire would punish his impertinence. There were always consequences when Olvir back-talked his father. Some more severe than others.

  Jarl Otkel swayed and walked to where Olvir waited. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he spoke. “Did you bed the wench?”

  It was no secret Olvir wanted Runa. Twas the one redeeming quality his father claimed he had—extraordinary taste in women. For a match with the lady would yield many benefits for his family. “I didn’t get a chance to speak with her alone.”

  “Why talk?” his father chided as he lewdly gyrated his hips. “There is little need for a woman’s mouth, unless she uses it to…”

  “I was escorted off Jarl Roald’s lands,” Olvir interrupted him, not needing further demonstration of how to handle a woman.

  Shame filled his sire’s eyes. “Escorted or forced off?”

  “Depends on how you interpret it.”

  “Did you hear that?” The jarl gaped at his men. “My only heir is twisting the truth again to make himself look more favorable in my eyes. Only, I can see through your lies, boy. Runa deserves a real man.” His father held up his thick arm. “Something she’ll remember.”

  “Her virtue cannot be bartered for or sold to the highest bidder like a slave at market, Sir. She is a respectable lady, surrounded by family and friends, and protected by a most ardent guard.”

  “Oh?” Otkel seemed intrigued by that piece of information. He gestured for a thrall to bring him a wine skin. “What guard?”

  “Thorolf.”

  “Skjold?” The jarl often relied on his highest ranking guard for answers. “Do you know the man?”

  “Aye, milord.” The captain stepped down from the dais. “He’s known as the Giant of the North. He showed up in the Trondelag a few years ago. Little else is known about his history.”

  “Hmmm.” His father faced him again. “Does that explain the bloody gash on your forehead?”

  Shite. Olvir had tried meticulously to cover the wound with his hair. “It does.”

  “This giant dared to touch my son?”

  “I’m afraid the fault is mine, Sir.”

  “How so?”

  “After Jarl Roald introduced his children, I asked if he would submit them to baptism.”

  His sire’s face turned a frightening shade of red before he backhanded him. “There is no room in the Trondelag for the White Christ. How many times must I tell you—demand you abandon this madness? Well? I cannot undo your conversion, Olvir. Odin rejects those who abandon him. So live with that shame behind these four walls. But when you are in public, representing me, you will not spread the foul message of Christianity. Do you understand?”

  The pain of the blow had not passed yet. In fact, his face throbbed in the spot where his father had struck him. Come morning, there’d be an angry bruise. “I refuse to hide my faith, Sir. If you are ashamed of me, send me back to Northumbria.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.” No matter the situation, Olvir prided himself in always being truthful. It had earned him the name Olvir the Honest in certain circles. “Prince Ivarr would welcome me.”

  “Aye,” his sire agreed. “Do you know how proud I was to receive a missive three months ago praising my only son’s skills at reading and writing?”

  Once again the guards mocked him.

  “You cannot swing a sword with those undersized hands, but you can write neatly.” Otkel shook his head. “Get out of my sight.”

  Olvir welcomed his dismissal and bowed. “Goodnight, Father.”

  He hurried to the narrow stairs and climbed into his modest sanctuary. He lit a candle and looked about the space. Scrolls and writing tools were strewn everywhere. Since childhood, he preferred reading over swordplay. And while his mother still lived, she encouraged him to pursue knowledge, behind his father’s back.

  There’d be no concealing it anymore. He intended to embrace the talents the One True God had blessed him with. And in time, once he won the heart of Runa, he’d take her back to Britain with him, where he’d never live under the weight of his sire’s scorn again.

  Chapter Five

  Once Thorolf made sure Runa was safely inside, he bowed and returned to his seat at the high table, where his fellow captains were busy celebrating. This is where tradition left her heart regrettably divided. Though Runa valued her family, loved her country, and would just as easily give her life in defense of her home as any trained warrior, she didn’t enjoy the same freedom as a man.

  The only women left in the hall were thralls and whores. Wives, daugh
ters, and sisters weren’t permitted to stay after the feast ended. Roald would expect her to join the other women or to go to bed.

  That’s why she craved the independence associated with being a temple maiden.

  A servant walked by with a tray. Runa helped herself to two servings of mead. She wasn’t ready to go to bed or let Thorolf forget her. She wanted to spend more time with him, to see how he interacted with his companions.

  “Give me your tray,” she told the slave.

  “Milady?”

  “I will serve the men.”

  The girl stepped back, looking stunned. “The jarl will have me whipped.”

  Runa chuckled. “For what? Obeying me?”

  The servant gave in. “Do you know how to balance it on one arm while you place the cups on the table?”

  How difficult could it be? She grabbed another cup. She could outdrink half the men—a skill Konal had taught her. Men like to get women drunk, he’d told her years ago. The best way to protect your virtue is to outsmart them.

  Feeling rebellious, she carried the tray to the high table and began placing the full cups in front of the men. No one noticed her and she took advantage of the opportunity to listen to what they were discussing.

  “What did you do to Olvir?” one of the soldiers asked Thorolf.

  “Short of cutting his bloody head off?” Thorolf took a generous swig of ale. “We talked, then he walked home.”

  “Talked?” Aspel questioned. “After the way you rushed over to help Lady Runa?”

  “Talked,” Thorolf repeated more forcefully.

  “She likes you,” Aspel added. “I see the way she watches you.”

  Thorolf released a growl, then looked sharply at his companion. “There will be no talk about the Jarl’s sister.”

  “Then who?” Aspel pushed. “You won’t touch Ingra or Mildre.” He pointed across the room where the whores waited to be summoned. “No one will judge you if you slip the lady your tongue when her brother isn’t looking.”

  Runa’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. How could they talk so brazenly about her? She picked up a full cup, then glared at Aspel. “I might judge him, you animal.” She poured the warm liquid over his head. “Think before you speak, Captain Aspel.”

  She reveled in triumph as the man pushed away from the table with his legs, his tunic and curly hair wet and sticky from the sweet drink. “Son of Odin,” he cursed, shooting up from his chair. “What are you doing in the great hall, milady?”

  The rest of the soldiers were laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe or speak. Only Thorolf appeared unaffected. He rose, wiping his palms on his braies.

  “Did you know she was standing there?” Aspel questioned him.

  “Nay.” Thorolf gazed at her with disapproval, then looked back at his friend. “But in the future, I suggest doing as the lady said. For the gods know all. Don’t they, Lady Runa?”

  “Aye,” she said, feeling guilty for intruding.

  Thorolf joined her on the other side of the table and whispered near her ear. “Put the tray down. I will escort you to the women’s quarters.”

  She dispensed of the platter, but wasn’t ready to retire yet. “I want to take a walk.”

  “Again?”

  “In the open this time.”

  He glanced around uneasily. “Honor demands I report this incident to your brother.”

  “For what purpose?” She gestured at Aspel. “Hasn’t he learned a hard lesson? Better than Roald could deliver with angry words or the crack of a whip?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you ever compromise or admit you’re wrong, Captain Thorolf?”

  “I’ve never misjudged anyone.”

  “No?” She blinked rapidly. “Agree there is more than one solution for a problem.”

  “I believe in right and wrong, milady. That’s the philosophy I live by. And it has served me well.”

  She couldn’t fault him for having high moral standards. “Very well.” She’d let him keep his rules for another night. “About the walk…”

  “Come. I will take you.”

  She wanted to explore the woods near the river, a place she often visited after dark as a child. Spirits wandered in the forest during the winter, looking for a way to rejoin their loved ones in the afterlife.

  She walked briskly to the footpath.

  “Where are you going?” Thorolf asked.

  “This way,” she said, not stopping.

  “What kind of answer is that?” He touched her arm from behind. “Why do you resist?”

  She wheeled about, facing him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a quiet man, Runa,” he started. “But I take everything in. You are unsettled.”

  “I am unhappy.”

  He tilted his head. “The world is at your feet. You have but to choose a fate.”

  “Spoken like a true warrior who knows nothing about women.”

  “I know enough,” he countered.

  “Do you? Then perhaps you understand my plight, Sir. For as the only daughter of Jarl Brandr, I am expected to marry a man my brother approves of, providing my family with wealth, lands, and a new ally. That is the extent of my fate, Captain.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I, for my dream will remain just that.”

  A spell of silence followed before he caressed her cheek with his thumb. She closed her eyes, relishing in his touch, knowing his motivation for doing it was simply to comfort her. But in her mind—in her deepest fantasy … it could never be. Brief as the tender moment was, it meant more to Runa than anything he could have said.

  “What dream do you wish to live?”

  “If I speak it, you’ll laugh at me.”

  “Never.”

  Could she trust him with such an intimate secret? Only her family and maids knew. “I wish to serve as a temple maiden.”

  “What shame in such a noble calling, Lady?”

  She averted her teary gaze. “Our zealous jarl would disagree.”

  “I will not speak against him.”

  “I’d expect no less from an honorable man as you, Captain Thorolf. You are a better person than I am. For I do not love my eldest brother as I should or my dearly departed father. Too much has happened between us—too many harsh words spoken—too many regrets.”

  “Time will change your mind.”

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  “Partly,” he said. “The rest involves the faith you have in the gods. Anyone willing to forego a life of privilege in order to serve Allfather is blessed with humility and wisdom. Open your heart to Odin, Runa, he will comfort you in your darkest hour.”

  “Even when I am forced to take vows with a man I do not love?”

  She already owed Thorolf a great debt for protecting her tonight. Burdening him with more problems didn’t seem right, but how could she fight against what came so naturally? She trusted him implicitly. The physical attraction remained only a sliver of what she felt in his presence.

  She wiped her eyes, then smiled up at him. “We’ve forgotten the point of our outing, Sir.”

  “Aye.” He offered his arm. “You wanted to walk through the woods?”

  “Yes,” she said. “As long as you stay with me.”

  Chapter Six

  “The girl has gone too far this time,” Jarl Roald addressed his wife as he paced the length of their bedchamber. “She threatened a man with a knife, Eva.”

  “And you witnessed all this while drinking your fill of mead and introducing your son to hundreds of guests?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  Eva repositioned herself on the bed. “Words wasted on a woman like me, Sir. For you know in my world nothing can be taken at face value. A person’s motivation is more important. Did you ask her why she got so angry at Olvir? Hasn’t he been absent for years, only just returned?”

  “Aye.” Roald scrubbed his face. “All the more reason to be accommodating. Even if the man is as irritating as
a pack of old women. My reputation is at stake, not Runa’s. My children won’t be shamed by her.”

  “Our children.”

  “Our children,” he repeated, yielding to his lovely wife. “She’s unstable. Selfish. Determined to get her way.”

  Eva chuckled then, drawing his questioning gaze. “A description that fits nearly every member of your family.”

  “Does it now?”

  “Perfectly. The only reason it troubles you so deeply is because she’s female. If Konal or Haakon did the same, would you be here now, complaining?”

  He frowned. “A wife should support her husband.”

  “No,” she disagreed. “A wife should guide her husband back to the right path if he’s lost his way. Remember our promise, Roald?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “To always tell the truth to each other.”

  “Aye. Runa is a spirited girl with dreams of her own. The very thing you admired me for.”

  “That is different.”

  “Oh?”

  “You aren’t the daughter of a jarl.”

  “No, I am not. But a birthright doesn’t change a person’s heart.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But it makes her beholden to something greater than herself. Something more important than me.”

  “The gods? For that’s the only thing I can think of that’s more important than my loving husband. And Runa wishes to serve the gods alone.”

  Roald growled, angered by the mere mention of his sister’s desire to be a temple maiden. “She’s been talking about it again?”

  “No. I inquired about it the other day. Her happiness is a priority.”

  “You have no time to worry about her.” He walked to the side of the bed and kissed the top of her head. “You need to rest and get your strength back so our son and daughter can benefit from their mother’s love and care.”

  “I am well, Roald, more than ready to resume my role in this household.”

  “You lost too much blood giving birth, Eva.” He squeezed her hand. “I won’t risk your life.”

  “Be gentle with the girl. She’s been through so much this year. Your father’s death, Konal and Silvia’s surprise marriage, and our union. You spend so much time lecturing her on what she’s expected to do, but all she sees is her elder brothers breaking with tradition and marrying women your sire would have never approved of. Don’t you think this kind of behavior inspires rebellion rather than discipline?”