Although subtle, a challenge had been made and Thorolf wouldn’t forget it.
Chapter Twelve
The news of Lady Runa’s departure with Prince Axel worried Olvir. Not only because he wished to marry her, but his father had made it clear if he didn’t, there’d be a heavy price to pay. Perhaps he’d deny him the right to his inheritance, or worse yet, deprive him of his manhood. A punishment his father had meted out on more than one occasion when a soldier or thrall had failed in their duties.
Olvir shoveled another forkful of meat into his mouth, washing it down with ale. The great hall was near empty, the men were at the practice field, except for him.
“You haven’t finished your meal yet?” His father entered the room, seeking his seat at the high table.
Olvir hadn’t expected to speak with his father so early. “Good day, Father,” he said with stiff courtesy. “I was just about to go.” He stood.
“Wait.” Jarl Otkel eyed his trencher. “You’d waste my food, boy? There’s half a chicken on that platter.”
“I only wished…”
“To run and hide?”
“To spare you further disappointment.”
Otkel picked up a loaf of bread and tore it in half, shoving a piece in his mouth. “If that was a regular concern of yours, my son, you wouldn’t be here, you’d be outside learning to swing a sword or aim an ax.”
“If the necessity arises, Father, I will pick up a weapon and defend our home. Until then, I prefer the peace of my manuscripts or managing your gold.” Always obedient to his sire’s wishes, Olvir knew what he risked by refusing to be a soldier. “I could be quite useful to you if you’d trust me, Sir.”
“No,” Otkel snapped. “Leave the management of my holdings to the old men who are too weak to serve as soldiers. You may read and write in the secrecy of your chamber, away from probing eyes. But in the open, you will pretend to be a man as best you can.” He stared at his son. “Stand up.”
He turned away sharply, wishing to be back in Northumbria where Prince Ivarr had a legitimate use for his skills.
“Did you hear me, Boy?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then do it.”
Olvir shoved his chair away from the table with his feet, then rose.
“Where is your weapon belt?”
“I don’t own one anymore.”
“Your sword?”
“In my chamber.”
The jarl’s gaze swept over him disapprovingly. “Tell me you keep a knife strapped to your calf.”
“All right, Sir. I keep a knife strapped to my calf.”
“Damn you, Boy. Do you think I’m incapable of detecting the sarcasm in your voice?”
He shook his head. “Hardly, Sir. Nothing escapes you.”
“That’s right.” His father tasted the roasted bird on his platter and smiled. “One of the only things that still pleases me, good food.”
Olvir sat back down, quite annoyed. Instead of wasting his talents here, he wished to be anywhere else and even had considered selling his skills to another jarl. “I have failed you once again.”
“Yes,” his sire agreed. “But there is still something you can do to make up for all of it.”
Olvir knew what is was. Produce an heir who could be raised a warrior. “If I am to take a wife, I must find a suitable woman to marry.”
Jarl Otkel used a thin splinter of wood to pick the food from his teeth. “Search no further than Jarl Roald’s longhouse. Runa is my choice for you, for this family.”
“I am sorry…” He hesitated to break the bad news to him, but didn’t see a way out of the conversation. “The lady has departed for the northlands with Prince Axel, one of the suitors her brother has deemed an appropriate husband.”
The dead silence that followed scared Olvir more than his father’s booming voice.
Two meaty fists finally hit the tabletop. “What are you saying?”
“Lady Runa is no longer in the Trondelag.”
“Goddamn it,” Otkel swore. “If you’d done what I told you the night you were in Roald’s hall, there’d be no question who the lady should marry.”
“I don’t rape women.”
“No,” his sire said. “You are one.”
Olvir laughed then, without restraint. A full-bellied chuckle that felt better than anything he’d done in quite a while.
Otkel’s eyes narrowed. “The sound of a madman if I’ve ever heard one.”
“No, Father. The sound of a man who has nothing left to lose. I am a burden. A disgrace. A female dressed in men’s garb. A plague and curse. The very end of your bloodline. So why not hang me now and get the inevitable over with? Kill me and marry a young, fertile bride who will give you many sons. With me out of the way, your new son would be your heir.”
His father’s confused expression only made him laugh harder.
“Be careful what you wish for, Boy.”
“Why?” Olvir challenged. “I’ve made my wish clear. Death brings peace, Father. Freedom from this living Hel I’ve endured since I was old enough to walk and talk around you. Desperate men have no expectations. And if I thought there’d be a chance of me being admitted to God’s glorious kingdom by taking my own life, I’d gladly slit my wrists and bleed out here and now.”
“You’d die a coward’s death to escape me?”
“I’d just die, Father. Willingly. Gratefully.”
“Shit on your life then.” The jarl shot up from his seat. “Here.” He ripped a blade from the sheath on his hip and tossed it on the table in front of Olvir. “It takes real courage to die, Boy, no matter the method. So prove me wrong for once. Show me what kind of man you truly are. Earn my respect back. And once you breathe your last, I’ll bury you like a king.”
Olvir’s breath came hard and heavy as he contemplated his next move. The smooth steel tempted him greatly. It would be a quick end, plunging the point into his heart.
“Well?” his sire said.
Determined, Olvir grabbed the knife off the table. He inspected the blade, even tested the end with his finger. It drew blood and Olvir wiped his hand on his braies. He stood, then walked around the table, stepping off the dais. He faced his sire and dropped to his knees.
“Is this what you want to see, Father? Now you’ll have a reason to mock me when you sit around the hearth at night with your captains. You can tell them I went happily, though, ready to meet the One True God. Not Odin or Thor.”
Olvir raised his hand, still unsure where to aim the blade. If he chose his heart, he’d die quickly. But if he pierced his gut, he’d bleed slowly, having time to enjoy the look of shock on his father’s face when he realized he’d actually done it.
“Forgive me, Mother,” Olvir whispered as he brought the knife down.
“Sniveling fool…” His sire dove over the table and landed on top of Olvir, knocking the blade from his unsteady hand.
Olvir struggled to breathe as his father straddled his chest.
“You want to die?” Olvir turned his head, not wanting to face his sire. “Don’t you know by revealing this secret you’ve given me every reason to make you live?” This time his father was the one to laugh.
Helpless under his father’s heavy weight, Olvir closed his eyes and prayed for relief. To any God who would listen.
Chapter Thirteen
Runa balanced the trencher on her knees as she tasted the bread and cheese her maid had served her. Prince Axel sat with his captains on the other side of the campfire, his gaze rarely leaving her. By choice, Runa shared a corner with Captain Thorolf and the other guards he’d chosen.
“You see the way he stares at you?” Thorolf said between bites of food. “That’s a man marked by love—I know the look well.”
Runa wasn’t used to hearing the captain speak so freely in front of others. But she welcomed the conversation tonight, feeling unusually lonely. “Do you speak from experience?”
“Not my own,” he assured her. “My men’s
… Which is why I must encourage you to put an end to all this nonsense.”
“Nonsense?”
“Yes, Lady Runa. As we’ve discussed before, we’re now three days into the journey and the man is becoming more territorial and obsessed with you. By the time we reach his home, he’ll never allow you out of his sight. What am I to do when it’s time to return to the Trondelag? Twould be better for you not to speak to the man the rest of the way.”
“Am I to blame?” She knew the answer, but wanted to hear Thorolf admit that her brother forced her hand in this venture. “Should I be disagreeable then? Give Axel every reason not to like my company?”
Thorolf sighed and set his empty platter on the ground. “This conversation seems to go in circles, Lady. I find I have to keep repeating myself in order to make you understand anything I’m trying to explain. I recognize the unfairness of Jarl Roald’s demands in your eyes. There’s naught to be done about it. The laws and traditions of our people allow for jarls to forge alliances through marriages. You aren’t the first, nor the last sister who will shoulder this responsibility.”
Runa shrugged. In that moment, she cared little for what other women had done. All that mattered was the unhappiness she faced. Didn’t a woman of reasonable intelligence have the right to question the choices made on her behalf? To express her own desires for the future? To serve the gods? “I appreciate your effort, Captain Thorolf. And since you know my deepest secrets, I am able to be completely honest with you. Something I treasure greatly, believe me.”
She looked up at him as he stretched his arms above his head, his muscular torso and arms something to be deeply admired.
“Roald refuses to release me from the fate-binding with my brother, Konal. Think what it would feel like to face that sort of responsibility. The kind of pressure I am under. The very idea that anything I say or do could possibly alter Konal’s happy life. Is this how a jarl usually demonstrates his wisdom and power? Tell me.”
Sighing, Thorolf reached for his wineskin. “I admit fate-binding is a timeworn practice, something I have never personally seen until now.”
“That’s good to hear, Captain. For if fate-binding is archaic, so must arranged marriages be.”
He swallowed a surprising amount of mead before he lowered the skin from his lips. He sat back down on a felled tree, visibly annoyed. “Is this how you’ve acted all your life, Lady? Arguing about anything you disagree with?”
“When it involves my own life, yes.”
“Tis no wonder Jarl Roald wishes to see you settled elsewhere.”
Runa’s mouth dropped open, shocked at his brutal honesty. This was the first time he’d ever been critical of her. “I offered my brother a respectable alternative. The temple is a fair distance from the Trondelag. And if we look at it from a different perspective, a marriage of sorts.”
Thorolf smirked. “Will you consummate this supposed marriage with a stone effigy? Take your choice, there are dozens at the temple.”
He’d been to the temple? When? “It seems too much mead has made you forget who you address, Captain.”
“I disagree. If anything, it provides clarity. Did we not make the same arrangement I had with your brother? To always speak frankly?”
“Aye,” she admitted, eager to question him about the holy place she’d dreamt of visiting since childhood. “I’ve grown up under the sharp eye of a father who disliked me and, now, a brother who’d sooner sell me to a rich husband than consider my feelings. Whenever someone is unfairly skeptical of me, I inadvertently jump to my own defense. There are very few people I consider true friends. You see, Captain, most people are more concerned with pleasing the jarl, to see what favors or rewards they can get. I know you are not one of them.”
“I am your friend, Runa. Odin give me strength for it. Or strike me dead. I care…” He stopped talking suddenly.
“What?” Runa asked, not recognizing the emotion on his face—as if an unsavory thought had popped into his head and he didn’t want to finish what he was thinking or feeling. “Do you regret caring, Captain? Is that it?”
Too many times of late she’d seen the fire in his eyes extinguished by something that seemed to trouble him. “You’re free to resort back to that stoic soldier I know you to be. Treat me as you would any other noble, Thorolf. Serve as expected, and when the day is over and your duties complete, gather round the fire with your brethren and complain about me. It won’t hurt me much. I’ve overheard plenty of the men in service to my family curse us after too much mead or ale has loosened their ungrateful tongues.”
Thorolf rubbed his temples and looked her directly in the eyes. “Do you think I’d ever insult you?”
She considered it. “No.”
“Then why give life to such vile thoughts?”
“I-I…” Because she needed to hear him say how much he cared … fantasied that he loved her … wanted him to drop on one knee and pledge aloud so the whole world could hear, that he’d serve her faithfully forever. “I have little confidence in my own worth, Sir. It is difficult to believe a man of your caliber truly cares for me or even considers what I have to say of any value.”
Thorolf nodded as if he understood. “With me, have no doubt.”
“I will try to remember.”
The captain angled his head toward the prince. “I am sure Prince Axel feels the same.”
“How lucky am I?” she asked, following his gaze to the prince. “There are two flesh and blood men who care about me.”
At that moment, something stirred Axel’s men keeping watch over the encampment. A call went out to ready weapons and Thorolf jumped into action, corralling Runa and her maid behind him.
He pointed at one of his men. “Go and find out what’s wrong.”
“Are we in danger?” Runa asked.
“Something is out there or someone.” He scanned the perimeter. “We will take no chances, though. Move to the trees.” He pointed. “Hallam, Aril. Take up position on either side, I will man the front.”
Within seconds, Runa found herself surrounded by men with their swords and shields at the ready for a fight.
After what seemed a long time, Prince Axel and three of his guards joined them. “Fear not, Lady Runa. We have unexpected company.”
Thorolf stood down then, but didn’t sheathe his weapon.
“Who?” she asked, stepping away from the protective cover of the trees.
“Someone I’m sure you don’t want to see again.”
“My brother?” she blurted without thinking.
Axel gave her an appraising look, then smiled. “Sibling rivalry seems to plague every family, no matter how small or large.”
“Yes,” she said, rewarding him with a wide grin, welcoming his understanding. “If not Roald, who?”
“Yes,” Thorolf interjected. “Who would join us on the road?”
“Jarl Skrymir,” Axel said.
“May the bastard never share another woman’s bed…” Thorolf raked his fingers through his hair, his handsome features twisted with rage and hatred. “Where is he?”
Axel squeezed Thorolf’s shoulder. “I, too, question his motive for showing up uninvited.”
“I am glad,” the captain said. “But my fight with him was never finished the night he insulted Lady Runa at the feast. I will handle this.” He stormed off before she could say a word.
“The captain cares for you,” Axel observed.
“Aye,” she said, still looking in the direction Thorolf had gone. “He is like a brother to me.”
“A brother?” The prince sounded skeptical.
Runa faced him then. “Have we given you cause to think otherwise?”
“No.” Axel shifted on his feet. “My eyes see one thing, Lady. My conscience another.”
Chapter Fourteen
Thorolf approached where Jarl Skrymir stood with a stag draped across his shoulders. The prince’s men hadn’t granted him access to the camp yet. If the captain had his way, Skrymi
r would be turned away.
Four stakes had been hammered into the ground at the opening of the clearing, burning torches hung at the top. The sentries held their positions there and Skrymir looked too comfortable waiting to be invited to the fire.
“Captain Thorolf,” the bastard greeted. “How fortunate we’ve crossed paths again.”
Thorolf snorted. “Depends on who you ask.”
The jarl looked left, then right. “You are the only man standing before me.”
“Aye. If I had a choice, I’d be the last.”
Skrymir tsked. “My presence displeases you?”
“Your presence revolts me, as did your words to Lady Runa.”
With ease, Skrymir lifted the stag off his shoulders and tossed it on the ground. “A gift for the lady. Fresh venison is always preferable over dried fish and bread.”
Thorolf eyed the offering with distaste. He’d die before he let Runa eat anything provided by this miscreant. Rage overtook him and Thorolf walked over to the carcass and spat on it, then stepped on the hindquarter, grounding it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. He met Skrymir’s gaze, silently daring him to make a move. “The lady has eaten her fill already.”
There were half a dozen armed men with Skrymir. Easily outnumbered by the eighteen in Prince Axel’s party. But Thorolf wasn’t interested in a full battle. He wanted to face this man one-on-one.
“What would your master say about such behavior?” Skrymir taunted.
“I am a freeman,” Thorolf informed him. “Responsible for my own choices.”
“A commoner, nonetheless.”
“A man.”
Skrymir laughed and his men with him.
The cold steel at Thorolf’s hip was hard to resist. He flexed his fingers, instinct challenging him to draw his weapon. Humiliate him. Destroy him. Spill his blood. “Why are you here?”
“To see Lady Runa.”
“She has made her choice … there is nothing left to say. Take your paltry gift and go.”
Passion's Fury (Viking's Fury Book 3) Page 6
