Viking

by Fabio

"When the nights are mild, we will ride together along the beach in the moonlight, sip wine, and watch the stars."

  Reyna felt entranced by the images. "But will it be safe, with Wolfgard still seeking to defeat us?"

  "When peace comes, it will be."

  Her expression turned moody again. "You want peace more than all else."

  "Wrong, darling," Viktor whispered, spreading her thighs widely and teasing her with his manhood. "I want you more than all else. Even now, can't you feel me trembling for you?"

  "Mayhap you are still not completely warm," she gasped out. "Mayhap there is a part of me that could still use some warming, too—"

  Reyna's words broke off in an ecstatic sigh as she felt her husband warming her to the very core.

  At midnight in the smoky main chamber of his longhouse, Wolfgard was again meeting with his spy. "What news have you brought?" he demanded gruffly as he paced with his hands clasped behind his back.

  The man replied, "Your stepdaughter seems blissful with your enemy, and your son and his kinsman sailed off this morn for Loire."

  Wolfgard whirled to glare at the man. "What lunacy is this? You say my son has gone to Loire?"

  "Yea."

  "But why?"

  "I have heard he means to make his home there."

  "And never return to Vanaheim?"

  The man nodded. "I hear he feels too torn between the warring factions with his sister now defected to Viktor's camp."

  Rage welled up in Wolfgard, and fury spewed from him like a volcano erupting. "The little bitch has lost me my son!"

  Uttering vicious curses he picked up a pottery bowl and hurled it into the hearth, where it shattered explosively and sent hot embers shooting into the room.

  Heedless of the shower of fire in his path, and looking much like a demon from Hel, Wolfgard charged toward the guards at the portal and waved a fist. "See that word gets out to all our company! The Ravisher must die! The warrior who fetches me back the little traitor's head on his pike will be rewarded with thirty pieces of silver!"

  TWENTY-NINE

  VIKTOR AWAKENED TO A MAN'S HARROWING PLEAS FOR HIS Life.

  The muffled screams propelled him to awareness, along with his wife's calm, blood-chilling words: "Die, son of Nidhogg."

  Viktor bolted to an upright position, blinking to gain his bearings. Instinct told him it was morning, but without the lamps, the room was enveloped in shadow, with only pinpricks of light sifting through the blocks of turf to offer illumination.

  On the floor beyond him, he was able to make out the form of his wife. Wearing a linen shift, she pinned a large, stocky man to the floor, her knee at his back, one of her hands restraining both of his wrists, her other hand holding her dagger to his throat. Her expression was one of purposeful rage as the captive cowered and groaned beneath her. The little fox stood tensely nearby, observing the scene in obvious puzzlement.

  Heedless of his own nakedness, Viktor jumped out of bed. "Reyna, what are you doing?" he demanded hoarsely.

  She jerked her head toward him, snapping, I am killing this son of Hel who dared to sneak in here and try to murder us in our beds."

  "What?" Viktor cried, still rather disoriented.

  "Wolfgard sent another assassin to slay us," Reyna explained. "A moment ago as I was playing with Freya, I spotted the villain stealing inside our chamber with his dagger

  The stupid oaf lunged at me and shoved his weapon into the wall."

  Viktor stepped closer, spotting the intruder's knife protruding from a block of turf. "My God, why did you not awaken me?"

  Cynically, she replied, "Verily, I was hoping not to worry your pretty face, my husband. Go back to sleep now and I will attend to this. The villain will die quietly enough with his throat slit ... Mayhap he will gurgle a bit, though."

  At Reyna's calm, pitiless words, the man emitted a tortured plea for his life, and Viktor sprang over Co Reyna, kneeling beside her and grabbing her wrist to restrain her. "No, you may not kill him."

  "Then you would let him slay us?" she retorted furiously.

  "No, We will take him to be guarded with the others, and later we will decide what must be done with him,"

  "Nay!" she denied. "I will slay him. Now."

  "No," he replied with equal passion. "You will not."

  For a moment their gazes locked in a turbulent battle of wills. Then, appearing utterly disgusted, Reyna abruptly released the man and tossed her dagger aside. Viktor was horrified to watch the stranger seize the knife and spring up to attack him! He lunged to his feet just as the man roared a curse and raised the lethal dagger.

  Viktor, naked and without a weapon of his own, was barely able to grab the assassin's wrist before the dagger could descend to his chest. He was left to tussle with the man while his vengeful bride nonchalantly picked up her fox, strolled over to the bed, sat down, and petted Freya—totally heedless of the two men stumbling around, cursing, groaning, and overturning the furniture. It took all of Viktor's skill to contain the bellicose, foul-breathed attacker.

  At last he managed to pin the villain back down on the floor. 'Thanks a lot, Reyna," he snapped over his shoulder. "I needed to have the wits scared out of me in order to wake up properly this morning."

  From the bed, she eyed him with resentment as she petted the fox. "You have a pretty backside," she said, as if bored with the exchange.

  "And I should likely strip yours bare and give it a rosy glow for the stunt you just pulled! Why did you do that?"

  She shrugged. "You seem to have developed sympathy for my stepfather's warriors. I thought you might want to see firsthand how deserving they are of your mercy."

  "If you expect any mercy from me, milady," he retorted, "you had best bring me some strips of linen right now so I can tie up this blackguard."

  Reyna complied, though she took her time. Viktor and his wife exchanged not a single additional word as he bound the man's hands behind him, shrugged on his clothes, and led the captive from the longhouse.

  Outside on the path to the shieling cottage, Viktor passed Orm and grunted a good-morning.

  "Jarl, who have you here? " the warrior asked, scowling at the grim-faced, battered captive.

  "Another of Wolfgard's would-be assassins. Somehow he must have gotten past the sentries at the fjord, then sneaked into the house."

  'This is most distressing," Orm replied. "Were you—or the Ravisher—hurt? "

  "Reyna is my queen," Viktor corrected him angrily. "And nay, neither of us was harmed, though I had to save the villain from my bride's vengeance." He shoved the man toward Orm. "Here, take him to be guarded with the others. I will question him later."

  "Yea, jarl." Orm removed his broadsword and used its tip to nudge the captive on.

  Viktor returned to the longhouse in a murderous temper. Just inside the door to his chamber, he spotted his wife, still on the bed, petting her fox—as if she had not just tried to deliver him over to his death! He lingered in the archway, fists clenched, afraid if he ventured too close to his maddening bride, he might indeed turn her over his knee.

  "What was the meaning of that little trick, Reyna? he demanded. "I could have been killed, you know."

  She smiled poisonously. "The blackguard was such a clumsy ox, I reckoned even you could fell him, my lord."

  Viktor was rapidly losing all patience. "You didn't answer my question. Why did you let him have your dagger?"

  Her eyes flashing with defiance, she nudged the fox aside and flounced up from the bed. "So you will understand what is at stake here. This is not a game, Viktor the Valiant. This is a life-and-death struggle. Only a fool would show mercy to an assassin."

  "I am not a fool!"

  She balled her fists on her hips and faced him down. 'Then show the strength of a warrior."

  He strode over and seized her shoulders. "Strength is not demonstrated through brute force, Reyna. It is displayed through using one's intellect to avoid bloodshed—"

  "That is weakness!"r />
  "No, it is strength," he reiterated. "Furthermore, we are all going to learn to live together harmoniously on Vanaheim, without violence. Even you, my Valkyrie bride."

  She jerked away from his touch. "Nay! I am a warrior, and I can be naught else. I will never lay aside my sword!"

  "Even when you are pregnant? he demanded. "Will you still do battle then, and risk my baby—our baby—inside you?"

  Glowering, she began to pace. "How know you we will ever have a baby?" As he lifted an eyebrow meaningfully, she quickly added, "Mayhap I am barren."

  He stepped closer and pinned her with an intense look. "Oh, no, Reyna. You are as fertile as Mother Earth herself—"

  "Who is this Mother Earth?"

  "Never mind." He touched her cheek. "You are going to have my child. Do you remember my dream?"

  She frowned. "This is the same vision you mentioned before? The one you had in Futuregard?"

  He nodded, and spoke intensely. "In it, I am holding our newborn son in my arms. You are nearby, and all the 'Viking people are kneeling around us in tribute." He smiled. "You see, the birth of our son will bring peace to Vanaheim."

  Reyna felt amazed and moved by these additional details of her husband's vision. The fact that he had experienced the dream while in another world lent credibility to his claims. Such insights from the heavens were most sacred, she knew. But she was still angry at him for not allowing her to slay the assassin, and Com once again between her warrior nature and the more gentle, feminine feelings her husband stirred. More important, she knew that to give in to Viktor, to share his vision, would mean giving up her lifelong yearning to return to Loire. Although she was becoming treacherously fond of Viktor, she missed Ragar and Harald, too, and longed to join them in the country of her birth. The sad truth was, she could not embrace her husband's dream without abandoning her own.

  Noting her troubled expression, Viktor pulled her into his arms. "Reyna, I have shared my vision with you. Won't you share your life with me just a little and try to trust me, as I have trusted you with my innermost thoughts?"

  Staring at him, Reyna again felt his powerful pull, the potent urge to surrender. But then she recalled how much Viktor was really asking of her that she give up her will to him, give up her warrior instincts, give up her desire to return to Loire. Verily, she was the only one being asked to sacrifice— and sacrifice greatly—and this grim realization made her features tighten in pride.

  "You should not trust me," she said, and shoved past him.

  Viktor was in a foul mood for the balance of the day, hurt by his wife's scathing words. He had shared with her the details of his vision, and she had thrown his feelings right back in his face.

  He understood she was still hurt by his refusal to allow her to go to Loire with Ragar and Harald, and that the warrior woman in her continued to rail out at his dominance. Of course, he didn't want to rule Reyna's life like a chauvinist, and he longed for the day when they could make more decisions together. Unfortunately, his bride was not acting particularly mature or reasonable at the moment. Granted, Reyna was not an enlightened twentieth-century woman, but a primitive Dark Ages female who reacted to life in a much more retrograde manner, in a way, the retrograde trait in him could appreciate that quality in her. Nevertheless, he could not allow Reyna to take a course of action that he knew would be wrong for them both; he must insist that she make their marriage her first priority, as it was with him. Toward that end, he obviously had a long way to go in reforming and refining his diamond in the rough.

  For now, however, they remained at cross-purposes, and he was still impelled to put his foot down all too often. Reyna drew close to him one minute, then defied him the next. It was maddening—but damned exciting and intriguing in spite of it all.

  That morning, Viktor questioned the captured warriors at the sheiling cottage, but was able to get little information from the ill-tempered, taciturn men. He tried to ascertain the identity of Wolfgard's spy in his village, but soon surmised that the prisoners likely did not know who the traitor was—if the resentful, perplexed looks they cast his way were any indication.

  At noontime, Ottar and Svein returned from their reconnaissance mission in Wolfgard's village. Both appeared grim-faced Viktor gathered all of his kinsmen in the dining chamber to hear their report

  "Wolfgard is preparing to do battle with us," Svein announced. "He has already cut the keel of a new war ship from a huge log of driftwood."

  As ominous sounds rumbled down the table, Ottar added, "Our enemy's warriors are also busy practicing warfare. Svein and I lingered until daybreak to watch their maneuvers."

  Viktor had listened with a scowl. "Another assassin appeared here this morning, sneaking into my bedchamber. Luckily, my wife awakened in time for us to—deal with the situation."

  The Valkyrie slayed the assassin?" queried Rollo.

  Viktor coughed in acute discomfort. "No, but we subdued him. He is imprisoned at one of the shieling cottages with the others, and so far, he and the other captives are not willing to talk. But I have decided we must take greater care from now on, and station additional sentries in the village and around the longhouse."

  Several of the men nodded agreement.

  "How do you propose we deal with the threat from Wolfgard?" asked Svein.

  "I am not sure/' Viktor answered. "I am still trying to figure a way to end this feud without excessive violence. Perhaps when my wile and I have our first child, Wolfgard will honor his vow to make peace."

  This pronouncement was met with skeptical comments. "Jarl, several winters could pass before your wife bears you a son," Orm pointed out. "What shall we do in the interim if Wolfgard attacks? Lay down our swords and die like miserable cowards?"

  As Viktor scowled in perplexity, Canute slammed down his fist. "Yeah, jarl. You cannot ask a warrior to be less than a warrior."

  "Surely there must be a way/ Viktor said. "A way we can win through reason and not savagery."

  "Jarl, a lamb will never defeat a lion," Orm contended.

  "Yea," echoed several of the others.

  Viktor was composing his thoughts when the sounds of barking in the next chamber abruptly postponed further argument. Reyna's pet fox, clearly terrified, bounded into the dining hall, chased by Viktor's three wolves.

  As Thor sailed over his chair, Viktor cursed and heaved himself to his feet. This disruptive ritual had been repeated several times lately.

  "Damnation! Who let the beasts in this time?" he asked irritably.

  His kinsmen were too distracted to reply. Ottar and Svein were already chasing the frisky wolves, while Canute growled at the little vixen, which had just jumped into his lap and was cowering there.

  A wild-eyed Reyna raced in, screaming, "Stop them! Do not let them eat Freya!" She made a dive to grab the fox from Canute, but Freya had already scampered off again, with Geri in hot pursuit, the wolf vaulting over the cursing Canute.

  Everyone dashed around, clambering into the furniture, overturning chairs and tankards of mead. At last the quivering fox was safely in Reyna's arms, the snarling wolves restrained by Ottar, Rollo, and Orm.

  "Take them to the stables," Viktor ordered wearily.

  The men dragged out the howling animals. Viktor approached his wife, nodding toward the wide-eyed fox. "Is she all right?"

  "Yea— if she does not lose her pups over this!" came Reyna's impassioned response.

  Watching his wife toss her head and leave, Viktor groaned. Svein came up, his expression troubled.

  "Jail, you cannot ask your warriors not to battle Wolfgard. Tis instinct for a warrior to kill, just as 'tis instinct for a wolf to devour a fox."

  "So my wife recently informed me/

  In the wake of the incident, Viktor felt morose. Yes, he was battling instincts here on a most primitive level—the instincts of his men to wage war, of his bellicose wife to thwart him at every turn, of Wolfgard and his warriors to kill him. And through it al$, he sometimes battled even more
fiercely with himself, wondering if the course he had charted was right, or if, through trying to bring these feudal peoples to peace, he might instead be engineering their own doom.

  THIRTY

  In the bedchamber, crouched near the fire, Reyna fretted over her fox. The creature had been nervous, trembling, pacing around the chamber, ever since her latest encounter with the wolves. Reyna finally coaxed the vixen into lying down near the hearth. For long moments she scratched Freya's ears and spoke to her soothingly.

  "You are safe now, little friend," she murmured. "Safe here in the bedchamber I share with my husband, to have your babies and nurse them. "

  As Reyna spoke, she found herself wondering if she, too, might be safe for the first time in her life, protected by Viktor. It truly was an amazing prospect, for never before in her turbulent life had Reyna known any feeling of security.

  At last Freya dozed and Reyna was able to leave her by the fire. As the hours trickled by and nightfall fell, she became perplexed when her husband did not join her. Guilt gnawed at her regarding their argument this morning and her own defiant behavior, but it had chafed against all her instincts when Viktor had forbidden her to kill the assassin. Reyna knew of no code other than the Viking law of swift retribution toward an attacker, of retaliation without mercy. Viktor challenged that set of beliefs, which left her confused, even threatened.

  Still, it had been wrong of her to tell him he should not trust her. As much as Reyna missed Ragar, as much as she resented Viktor's refusal to allow her to sail with her brother to Loire, the fact remained that Viktor had intervened to save

  Ragar and Harald; in return, she had agreed to become his bride and had pledged her fealty to him. Now she would not dishonor her word and raise her sword against him. She had made her bargain and she would live up to it, even if she was not sure just how she might set things right or if her pride would allow her to extend the olive branch.

  She stared with sudden longing at the bed. Mayhap when Viktor came to her, they would have another rousing tight, like the one last night, and end up in bed together. Mayhap that was the best place to settle up accounts. Indeed, the mere thought set her aquiver.