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

by Violetta Rand

  Thorolf held back his laughter and gave her a mock bow. “Up this hill for sure.”

  Her tiny hands fisted at her sides, a clear indication she didn’t appreciate the humor in his answer. “Y-you know what I meant.”

  “I just returned from the east woods, another failed attempt at finding a trace of Skrymir or Prince Axel.”

  “I am sorry to hear it.”

  “As am I,” he said. “I returned as quickly as I could, Lady. I wanted to invite you to sit with me at the feast tonight.”

  “Feast?”

  “Tis Thurseblot.”

  Looking bewildered, she said, “Dear Odin, how could I forget something so important?”

  “I could brave a guess if you’d like.”

  “Brave a guess? As if I could stop you, Thorolf.”

  He loved the spark in her eyes whenever she got mad at him. His braies were suddenly too tight in the crotch area. “Perhaps you were too preoccupied kissing another man to think clearly.”

  “W-what?”

  “Your good captain looked pleased with himself.”

  Sputtering, Runa came at him and slapped his chest with both hands. “You wretched beast.”

  Convulsing with laughter, he caught her hands and gave her a tiny shake. “How many times do I have to tell you those beautiful lips belong to me?” He hauled her close and captured her pouty lower lip between his teeth. Then skillfully filled her mouth with his tongue, silencing her instantly.

  It pleased him when she melted against him, not struggling to get away, but kissing him with equal passion. Raw emotions exploded inside him, his body demanding more of her—preferably naked and in his bed. He could kiss her for hours but… “We must be careful,” he warned, withdrawing. “Remember, even the trees have eyes and ears.”

  Her face had turned a lovely shade of pink. “The trees in the Trondelag suffer from the same malformation, I think.”

  Good, her sense of humor was still intact. “I won’t let your kisses keep me from getting the answers I deserve, Runa. Now tell me, why are you headed up this hill? And why did you kiss the captain? Have I neglected you so much that you wish to replace me already?”

  She frowned and he pinched her cheek playfully.

  “The captain is old enough to be my father.”

  Thorolf shrugged. “Some women prefer the experience of an older man.”

  “Your teasing grows tedious, Sir.”

  “Does it?”

  “Besides, you already know the answer. I want to meet the maidens.”

  “So the captain betrayed my trust?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Thorolf leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m certain those lovely women aren’t maidens anymore.”

  She pushed him away, annoyed. “Do tell, Thorolf. I am sure you had nothing to do with despoiling them. For as much as I don’t wish it, I am stuck being a virgin.” Her eyelashes fluttered appealingly.

  The little minx.

  “Step aside, Captain. I wish to visit the temple maidens.”

  Realizing he’d never be able to stop her, he offered his arm. “I will escort you myself.”

  *

  Hours after her visit with Odin’s daughters, Runa prepared for the feast honoring Thor. Assigned a maid by the high priest, the girl worked diligently on her hair, spiraling thin strands around a wire circle, then pinning it in place. The front and the sides of her head were decorated in this way, the rest of her hair cascaded down her back.

  Runa was grateful Thorolf had recovered two of her four bags from the camp. One of them contained her best gowns. She’d chosen a sky blue silk for the celebration, cut demurely in the bodice, but it dipped low enough to show a hint of cleavage. Once the servant had finished with her hair and jewelry, she offered Runa a small mirror.

  “You have skilled hands,” she praised the girl. “Tell your mother I am pleased and will require your services for another few days.”

  The maid curtsied and tried to hide her smile.

  “Go on then,” Runa encouraged her. “Get ready for the feast.” Not a day over thirteen, it pleased Runa to see such a young, happy girl.

  Captain Harald waited outside her chamber. When she opened the door, he looked her over carefully. “Be careful,” he advised. “Dressed this way, you rival the beauty of the full moon.”

  They walked out of the women’s quarters which were situated along the north wall of the temple. The great hall was located in a separate building not ten feet away from the sanctuary. Built to resemble a traditional longhouse, its high ceilings and length were overwhelming. Instead of a dirt floor covered in furs, beautiful colored stones had been carefully cut and fit together. Six hearths warmed the great space, the high table on the far side of the room.

  “How many people are here tonight?” Runa asked.

  “This hall can seat six hundred,” he said.

  “Six hundred?”

  “Aye.”

  Fascinated, she looked about again, taking notice of the gold floor stands containing hundreds of candles. Overhead, in the uppermost rafters, hung Odin’s banner—his messenger ravens, Huginn and Muninn, flying against a sea of red with scrolls in their beaks. The trestle tables were too numerous to count, silver goblets and matching platters graced each one. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat made her stomach growl in appreciation.

  “I am overwhelmed by the beauty and wealth of this place.”

  “Come.” Harald ushered her to the back of the chamber where a short line had formed on the right side.

  Guests were expected to greet the high priest and the other holy men. In the middle of the high table, close to the edge, sat a replica of Odin’s crown, a raven skull decorated with oak branches. Two candles burned bright behind it, casting an eerie glow through the hollowed out eye sockets. Though Runa appreciated what it symbolized, it made her feel squeamish.

  When their turn finally came, Captain Harald escorted her before the high priest who smiled down at her.

  “Lady Runa. I trust your stay here has been comfortable.”

  She curtsied. “More than comfortable, sir.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Are you filled with joy tonight? Our lord Thor enjoys the smiles of pretty women.”

  “I am here to honor the great Thor and you.”

  Pleased with her answer, the high priest bowed his head. “I will set aside some time to speak with you in the next couple of days. Captain Harald, be sure to bring her to my solar.”

  “Aye.” Harald bowed and shooed her away from the table.

  “That’s it?” she asked, surprised by the short audience with the high priest.

  “There are hundreds of people to welcome, Lady Runa. Feel blessed though. On only three other occasions have I witnessed the high priest speak directly to a woman. The others were older and married.”

  “Does it mean anything important?” she pressed.

  “It means you’re too beautiful to resist.”

  Runa turned upon hearing Thorolf’s deep voice and found him standing behind them. Dressed in black braies and a matching tunic embellished with gold thread, he looked more like a prince than a captain.

  “Thank you for your service, Captain Harald,” Thorolf said. “I can manage the lady from here. I believe your family awaits you.”

  “Aye.” Harald smiled. “Until tomorrow, Lady Runa.”

  She watched him make his way down a long row of tables and disappear into the crowd.

  “He’s a good man.”

  “I agree.”

  “He deserves his own lands.”

  “You deserve a kiss,” Thorolf squeezed her hand. “And a soft bed to roll around in.”

  Heat spread through her body. “And what has caused this sudden change in you, Sir?”

  “Watching how the men reacted when you entered this hall. Not even the old ones could resist a peek, Runa. And I surely did more than that.” His eyes were the color of
a midnight sky, dark and seductive, ever focused on her face.

  “If we weren’t expected to stay for the feast, Captain Thorolf, I’d ask you to take me somewhere more quiet, even secluded, so I could get a better idea of what you mean.”

  “After the meat course,” he said, “I will take you to such a place. All of your questions will be answered my sweet. Doubt will plague you no longer.”

  The threat attached to those seemingly innocent words made her weak in the knees. She sensed the urgency in him, saw it on his features. Thorolf wanted her. No more waiting. Tonight, she and the captain would be joined as one, so help her Odin.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Light and shadows.

  Sun and moon.

  Thunder and lightning.

  Storms upon the sea and earth.

  Great Thor, thunder born, son of Allfather.

  Red giant, with a hammer of steel.

  Power and immortality.

  Youth and strength.

  Truth and justice.

  War and peace.

  Love and fertility.

  Great Thor.

  God of war.

  God of protection.

  God of Thunder.

  Hear us.

  Walk among us.

  Drink our mead.

  Eat our meat.

  Hear our song.

  Great Thor.

  Mighty son.

  We honor you with blood.

  Stay with us, great Thor.

  Endure the ages.

  Preserve our people.

  Deliver us from our enemies.

  Hear us, great Thor.

  Thunder-born.

  Protector of mankind.

  Mighty Thor.

  Hear us.

  The song ended and the high priest stood, saluting the crowd with his golden cup. “Long live Thor. Long live his faithful.”

  “Aye.” The throng saluted, then drank.

  Thorolf couldn’t take his gaze off Runa. He’d never seen her look so beautiful before. Should he credit the candlelight? The gown she wore? The silver pins in her hair? The gold choker about her throat? No. Dressed in a sack she’d still shine. The glow in her cheeks when she looked up at him, her love unhidden from the world, made him crazy.

  “Listen to me,” he gripped her hand under the table. “We are failing miserably at keeping our feelings a secret.”

  “I cannot,” she said. “This place has a way of making the truth come out.”

  Suspecting the potent wine had more to do with it, he poured her another serving. “Drink, Lady. Eat your fill. You’ll need all your strength tonight.”

  She blushed and took a tiny sip.

  “More bread, Sir?” a servant asked.

  Thorolf froze when he heard that voice. A sound that triggered all the nightmares he’d banished to the deepest regions of his soul. Hatred welled up inside him. Bloodlust propelled him out of his chair as he grabbed the man’s face, squeezing his cheeks so hard, Thorolf’s fingers went numb. He dragged the whimpering bastard outside and across the clearing, with no regard for anything around him.

  How many years had he waited to avenge his family? He stared heavenward, giving thanks to Thor. “On this night of all nights…”

  His cousin’s breathing was rapid and shallow. But Thorolf cared nothing about him, only that his blood must be spilled in order to appease the thunder god and himself. He lifted his murdering kinsman by the throat, his feet dangling.

  “For my father, mother, and brother…” Eleven years ago, Thorolf’s uncle, along with his three sons, lay siege to Thorolf’s home in the middle of the night. “Feel their pain, hear their cries for mercy ring in your ears while I claim your worthless soul.”

  His cousin screamed as he slammed the man down on the ground. Thorolf ripped his long knife from his weapon belt and held it above his head.

  “Thorolf, wait!”

  At the sound of Runa’s voice, he closed his eyes momentarily, trying to focus on what he needed to do instead of her. Though, if he could, he’d spare her the shock of watching this bloodshed.

  More people gathered around now. It didn’t matter. A life for a life. That’s how Thorolf was raised. Blood for blood. His eyes popped open and then he stabbed his cousin in the heart over and over. Father. Mother. Brother. People of Borg. All my suffering. Odin. Thor. Gift from the gods. A hundred justifications for this violence existed. And, one-by-one, darted through his mind.

  By the time someone gripped his shoulder from behind, urging him to drop the blade, Thorolf couldn’t see straight. He studied his blood-soaked hand, two large gashes were on the underside where the knife had probably slipped.

  “Come with me, Thorolf,” the high priest said gently, holding on to his forearm as Thorolf stood. “We have much to discuss.”

  He nodded, ready to accept whatever punishment the high priest chose. It was forbidden to take a life on sacred ground unless offering a sacrifice to the gods or defending yourself.

  Runa stepped in front of them, her eyes full of tears. “Thorolf,” she whispered. “W-hat … who is that man?”

  Instead of touching her, Thorolf caressed her with his eyes, taking in every beautiful inch of her being. If he faced death tonight, let Runa be the memory he carried with him to Hel. Captain Harald stood a few feet away and Thorolf waved him near. “Take care of her,” he said, then let the priest lead him away.

  Once seated inside the high priest’s solar, the man served Thorolf a cup of ale, then sat down on the opposite side of the table. “I recognized you the first time we met, Captain Thorolf.”

  Void of emotion, Thorolf swallowed down the bitter drink. “Did you?”

  “Aye. But I didn’t press the issue because I sensed you didn’t want to be identified. But now…” He looked about. “You’ve broken the law.”

  “A justified execution long overdue.”

  “Yes.” The holy man leaned forward. “As the son of King Wyborn.”

  Hearing his father’s name stung. He wrestled with the pain, wanting to choke the life out of the man for daring to speak it. He took a deep breath. “How could you possibly know my face? I haven’t been here in thirteen years.”

  “Some faces are unforgettable. And you, Prince Thorolf, have the same features as your good father.”

  “Do I?”

  “And I pray the same sense of duty.”

  Thorolf wanted to chuckle at that fear-laced statement. But he didn’t. Instead, he stretched his fingers on his right hand to alleviate some of the pressure building inside him. “Ask your questions, Priest. I will answer truthfully.”

  “Where have you been hiding?”

  Thorolf’s head snapped up in anger. “Rephrase your question.”

  “Where did you seek sanctuary after your family was killed?”

  “Wherever I could. Away from the high north. Mostly in the Trondelag, working for shelter and training with weapons.”

  “How far you’ve come from the young boy who slit a goat’s throat on Odin’s altar all those years ago. Do you remember that Mabon holiday? King Wyborn brought you here to name you as his rightful heir and to be blessed by the gods.”

  “Aye.”

  “You were so eager to please him. I haven’t seen a steadier hand on a boy since.”

  “The past is of no interest to me.”

  “It should be.” The high priest stood. “Don’t you want to know why your cousin was here posing as a servant?”

  Did he have a choice? He nodded and pushed his empty cup toward the priest. “I thirst.”

  Obligingly, the priest refilled the vessel. “Three months ago, another bloody siege took place in Borg.”

  Thorolf shrugged. “A common thing.”

  “No,” the priest disagreed. “Your father’s loyal captains have waited for over a decade to find the right time to rebel against your uncle. If you only knew the intricate plan designed to slowly reap political discord among your people, how these great men planted the see
ds of doubt in the minds of the commoners—in the ale houses and at the docks. Then you’d understand how desperate they were to restore your father’s bloodline. To get you back. To crown you as king.”

  “My sire is dead. So is his kingdom.”

  “Nay, Prince Thorolf.” The priest pounded his hand on the table. “Your kingdom thrives—ruled by a council until your return.”

  Unable to accept what the priest said while he stewed in the rage that had polluted his mind, Thorolf stood and headed for the door.

  “Prince Thorolf, if not for your people’s sake, what about for Lady Runa? Will you not claim your crown so you can marry the girl you love?”

  Thorolf froze in his steps. “How do you know about the girl?”

  “Sit back down, Thorolf, I have many things to explain still.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The man lying on the ground had died from multiple stab wounds. The snow surrounding him was no longer white but crimson. Stained with blood. Evidence of Thorolf’s madness. Runa still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d transformed from her happy lover to an enraged Berserker bent on violence.

  “Have you no idea who he is?” she asked Captain Harald a second time.

  “No, Lady. If I did, I’d say just to give you peace.”

  Curious onlookers continued to gather, whispering about Thorolf and pointing at Runa. She didn’t like being the center of attention. Having already attracted the critical eyes of many guests in the great hall from her obvious affection for the captain, would these people think the dead stranger was Thorolf’s rival? Her former love? Word would reach the Trondelag quickly and Roald would be that much more insistent on marrying her off to a man who lived in the farthest reaches of their country.

  Two soldiers arrived with a sled and lifted the body onto it, then disappeared into the woods without a word to anyone.

  “I’d like to follow those men, Captain.”

  He shook his head. “No. Whoever told them to retrieve the body wouldn’t like it if we interfered.”

  “Then help me find Thorolf. I must know if he’s safe.”

  “Judging by the way the high priest treated him, I’m sure he’s in his solar now, not in a holding cell.”