Love's Fury (Viking's Fury #1)

by Violetta Rand

  “You are angry at me?” she braved asking.

  He didn’t look up. “No.”

  “Do you regret bringing me along?”

  “No.”

  “Will we arrive in Filey tomorrow?”

  “By everything sacred…” He tossed a bone in the fire pit. “I thought you didn’t like playing the question game.”

  “I find the silence between us unbearable.”

  “Perhaps you should have considered the consequences before you invaded my privacy at the river.”

  “I didn’t know you owned the woods and river, milord. I will be sure to ask your permission before I seek ingredients for our meals.” Her voice shook as she spoke, but she couldn’t allow him to get the best of her. She was quickly learning how to challenge him without sparking his anger.

  Though she had specifically ventured to the river to see the flex of his muscles and the way his body would glisten in the fading sunlight when wet—what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Like all the things no chaste girl would ever brood about. But Silvia didn’t consider herself the same as other women. Her body might be inexperienced, but her mind burned with fantasies. And if she didn’t tread carefully around this man, he’d make sure her body caught up with her thoughts.

  “You’d be smart to remember not to take a step without my permission,” he reminded her.

  “Unless my path leads to your bed.”

  Dark blue eyes met hers. “I’ve made it clear how your stubbornness arouses me, Silvia. If you continue to provoke me, what makes you think I won’t take what I want?”

  “I’ve seen the irreversible damage done by unscrupulous men in York. Rape and violence. Bastard children born to Saxon women whose fathers were nowhere to be found. How can you suggest such a thing, even if those threats are empty?”

  “Is that what you think of me?” He shot up, the linen draped across his lap with food on it, fell to the ground. “Am I weak because I haven’t claimed you?”

  “No,” she said. “You are a better man than most.”

  He paced on his side of the fire.

  “I know you had no choice in coming here,” she started. “But from everything I’ve learned, the Danes come to gain wealth and power, or to spill blood. But not you, milord. You show little interest in anything.”

  He sighed. “In Norway, fertile land is scarce. My family is fortunate to own enough to feed ourselves and the people who serve us. Hundreds have fled our country in search of a new life. And the wars… There is only tentative peace between the Norse and Danes. Men serving under Prince Ivarr have crossed our borders and salted the soils so nothing will grow. Do you know how long it takes for the fields to recover? Men faced with starvation will do anything to fill their hungry bellies.”

  “Is that what you hoped to gain? Farmable lands?”

  His jaw clenched. “My steading here will provide additional crops. I left Norway a second son and return a jarl. That is all you need to know.”

  “I only wish to understand your motivations, to know you better.”

  “That is not your concern, Silvia. You will serve me. If I command you to cook my meals or arrange my furs, you will do so without hesitation. My private affairs are my business alone.”

  “You called out for Eira in your sleep.”

  He gave her a hard look. “Never speak that name aloud.”

  She marveled at his sudden turn in mood. Who was Eira, and why did her lovely name inspire such coldness? “Forgive me, milord.” She rushed to pick up the food he’d dropped.

  After she finished her work, she addressed Konal. “I seek permission to go to sleep, milord.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Keep the knife I gave you close by.”

  She’d arranged her pallet several yards away from Konal’s, out of reach, but close enough to feel safe. Before she faded, she watched him move about the fireside, deeply troubled by something, muttering to himself, and occasionally staring heavenward. No doubt he’d loved this Eira with all his heart. And for the first time in Silvia’s life, for the briefest moment, she wished she’d been born someone else.

  *

  “I am not a fool,” Konal repeated out loud. “Nor a coward or weakling. I don’t depend on my sire for sustenance as my brothers do. I don’t cling to a wife or serve any man but myself. But I cling to memories. Bitter ones…”

  He’d not heard his former lover’s name spoken out loud in years. For anyone that knew him dared not say it lest he carved their tongues out.

  “I am Konal the Red. Odin is my master. My axe and sword are ready to answer the call for war. I don’t fear death. I dream of Valhalla. Women sigh in my presence. Men step aside as I pass by.”

  All these things he must convince himself were still the truth, for the tiny Saxon asleep on the furs had nearly brought him to his knees. Not because she uttered the name of a woman he once admired and loved, but because she was pure and so unwaveringly brave. He didn’t know what to do with her. Silence her forever or keep her at his side. On more than one occasion since they’d met, he thought her a gift from Odin himself. For she saw things with a rare clarity.

  The ache between his legs now matched the constant ache in his heart. He walked around the fire and stood over her, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept.

  The idea of his misery infecting another soul bothered him. He’d not only sworn loyalty to Prince Ivarr before he sailed to Northumbria, he’d also promised to leave his past behind. To make new memories. To return a healed man. But once his resolve was truly tested, he fell apart.

  He knelt beside her, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “You ask too many questions. Ones I don’t want to answer. Tis no fault of yours, sweet Silvia. For three years ago, I was a different man. The kind that would have welcomed your friendship. You’d do best to keep away from me.”

  As he started to stand, she gripped his wrist and stared up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. “Please,” she choked out. “Don’t leave.”

  Tears leaked out of her eyes.

  “You don’t know what you are saying.”

  “I recognize pain,” she said. “You grieve as I do. I will not ask you any more questions, milord. But I offer what comfort I can in exchange for what relief your warmth and strength can give me. For tonight, I sorely miss my father.”

  Konal licked his lips. For days he’d fantasized about crawling into her bed. But that’s not what she offered him now. This was much more. A show of unmitigated trust.

  “Sometimes, I think the men who die are fortunate,” he said. “For this world is cruel and unpredictable. One day we live in peace, the next we are plunged into war. Mourn your father, girl, but don’t begrudge him his eternal rest, for whatever place he ended up in, is surely better than this.”

  Agony overwhelmed him. Curse his weakness.

  She pulled the furs back. “Will you join me?” She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, the invitation left open.

  He admired the curve of her back, the appeal of her tiny body waiting for his to curl up next to her. Yes. He’d risk it, and slid underneath the furs and tugged her into his arms.

  Warmth and soft flesh greeted him. He buried his face in her long, fragrant hair, breathing in her feminine scent. She was everything he’d hoped for, her closeness a peace blessing upon his soul.

  “Are you comfortable?” he finally spoke.

  “I am aware.”

  A strange thing to say. “Of what?”

  “Everything,” she whispered. “I can hear my own heartbeat.”

  Then he understood. She’d never lain in the arms of a man. And from his own experience, the first time he shared a bed with a woman, his senses were intensified by a hundredfold.

  “You have restored my peace,” he said, stroking her back. And resurrected his passion. His manhood throbbed to life again. But Konal bit his tongue and refused to spoil the sweet moment.

  “I’ve never slept underneath the trees and starry sk
y,” she said. “I’ve always known the security of my home or the safety of a friend’s cottage. Tis not easy for me to be here, milord. But if I must endure all these new things, I am grateful for your protection.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, almost helpless to resist kissing her. Her words were sweeter than honey, nearly as enticing as the curves of her body. “You mustn’t say such things, Silvia.”

  She turned over then. “Why?”

  He gazed at her pretty face, committing her features to memory. “Some men would misinterpret your words as seductive.”

  “But truth should never be withheld. Not when it burdens your heart. Not when you owe someone a debt of gratitude for saving your life.”

  “I didn’t save you,” he said.

  “I would have slept through the fire,” she offered. “Believe me, milord. And you’ve defended me against the Danes.” She swallowed hard. “The image of that severed head will never leave me.”

  “Ulf deserved to die a long time ago.”

  “But you killed him for me. And though murder is a great sin, my god forgives you if you were truly protecting an innocent.”

  Protecting an innocent, yes, but his selfish motivation bordered on evil in her faith. He wanted Silvia for himself. And knowing dozens of men lusted after her was eating him up inside. Just thinking about it drove him mad.

  “Roll over, Silvia. Go to sleep.” It served more as a warning, for if he gazed upon her a second more, he’d take liberties and taste her plump lips again and again.

  She did as he bid, and Konal knew if he survived this night, he could face anything thereafter. For the girl had bewitched him.

  “Good night, Jarl Konal,” she said.

  Another wish had been fulfilled. She’d finally said his name.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The wind whipped through Silvia’s unbound hair as she stood at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the North Sea. How beautiful she looked, eyes full of wonder. Konal had never watched someone gazing upon the ocean for the first time. But he shared her fascination, for it had been seven months since he’d beheld the angry gray waves or seen the sails of a longship.

  “Now I understand,” she said softly, looking at him.

  “Understand what?”

  “Why your people aspire to master something so untamed and wholly beautiful. God’s hands are mighty.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “There is nothing more mesmerizing, more unexplored, more perfect than the sea. On a good day, she’ll open up to you like a woman in love, granting access to the most exotic places. But when she rages, her angry depths will swallow you. And she never gives up her dead, Silvia.”

  “Then I will admire her from a safe distance,” she said.

  He chuckled at her logic, knowing if she ever stepped upon a Norse vessel, she’d conquer her fear.

  “Prince Ivarr mentioned your father’s ship.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But it isn’t anchored here. I must travel further north.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  “Did you hope to see the boat that would carry me away from your homeland?”

  “I’ve seen sketches of longships, even watched the sails mended in Jorvik. But I’ve never glimpsed one in the water.”

  He disliked the feeling that came over him then, the desire to fulfill any of her wishes, and the need to make her smile. Remembering who she was should set his mind straight. A slave. A bloody Saxon. An enemy. But as he studied her, her birthright didn’t matter. For she’d outshine most women in his homeland. Even the Danes noticed it. This girl’s future was better than most. She’d not end up a bed slave. Silvia would attract a powerful man, a warrior worthy of her heart and admiration.

  “We must go now,” he said.

  “So soon?” Her lips curved downward. “We’ve only just arrived.”

  “And lost a full day by taking the long way. If there’s any hope of finding Jahn or the men who besieged our camp, I must get to my steading and take inventory. Count the able-bodied men in my service and possibly recruit fighters from the nearby steadings.”

  “So you will avenge the men who died?”

  “I will trade blood for blood.”

  She walked away from the cliffs and moved to the horses tethered together. Petting their necks affectionately, she whispered in their ears.

  “You like horses?” he asked.

  “All animals,” she answered.

  “But me.”

  She smiled. “Another regret I have. Know I insulted you out of anger and fear. Anyone in my situation would have done the same, milord.”

  “I understand too well.”

  “You aren’t a mindless beast.”

  “Just a heartless one?” His eyebrows shot up.

  “Must I answer now?”

  “You require more time to think about it?”

  “Having learned a valuable lesson before, I would choose not to rush to judgment again.”

  Odin have mercy. He’d never met a woman like her. She’d openly insulted one of the most bloodthirsty princes of Scandinavia and lived. Her wit and beauty put him at a clear disadvantage. Konal knew distance was the only cure for the fever that was slowly setting in.

  “You will ride alone today.”

  Hours later, they arrived at the border of his lands, demarcated by two white stones with his name carved upon their face.

  “Jarl Konal the Red,” she said out loud. “Even the breadth of your borders is described.”

  “You can decipher the runes?”

  “I can read the most rudimentary symbols.”

  “And which direction shall we ride to reach my house?”

  “Northeast,” she said. “I see smoke in the distance.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, yet again impressed by her abilities.

  A sheep path cut through the lush fields, then slowly meandered up a hillside. It was from the top that he first spied his holdings clearly. A cluster of thatch-roofed cottages located near a stream waited below. Sheep and horses grazed in an open pasture. And people were working in what Konal presumed were his gardens.

  “Prince Ivarr has rewarded you well,” she observed. “The land is prosperous.”

  With renewed excitement, he kicked his steed down the incline, more than ready to claim his property. Two men waited in front of the main cottage as he rode closer.

  “Greetings, milord,” one of the strangers said. “I am Fiske, your caretaker.”

  “A Norseman?” Konal dismounted, shocked to meet a countryman. “How did you know who I was?”

  “We received word of your arrival days ago,” he said. “As for my presence, I was chosen by Prince Ivarr himself. A request for a volunteer from amongst our troops stationed far north of Jorvik came. I answered the call, after being promised my family could join me.”

  The news pleased Konal and he grasped the man’s arm in friendship. “Your wife and children are here?”

  “Settled a month ago.”

  “And you?” Konal eyed the other man, knowing he was Saxon.

  “Alfred.” He bowed.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “This is the only home I’ve ever known, milord. My father and grandfather were smithies.”

  Never quick to trust, he’d treat the man with respect until he had a chance to speak to Fiske about him.

  “Have any travelers passed this way?” He returned his attention to the Norseman, hoping his attackers had ventured here in search of him.

  “No, milord. We rarely receive visitors. But if you require a messenger or wish someone to go to the market for supplies, there are twenty men ready to serve. And we house ten families in the guest cottages.”

  “And the stable?” Konal wanted to examine the horses. Prince Ivarr was always in need of superior horse flesh. If the stock proved hale, it could be profitable to breed them.

  “One of the sturdiest structures on the farm. Do you want to see it now or would you prefer to get settled f
irst?” Fiske gazed at Silva, still perched on her horse.

  Gesturing for his new friend to come closer, Konal shot a quick look at Silvia. “The lady is to be treated with honor. Though a thrall, I hold her in high regard. Assign one of the girls to serve as her maid. As for me, food and mead. I will meet my servants today, but not on an empty stomach.”

  “As you wish, milord.”

  Satisfied Fiske would follow his instructions, Konal returned to the horses and helped Silvia down.

  “Did I overhear correctly?” she asked. “Your servant is from Norway?”

  “Aye. The gods have once again favored me.”

  He escorted her to the entrance of the abundant cottage that would be his temporary home. Inside, the central room served as the kitchen and hall. Constructed of wattle and daub as most structures in Northumbria, the south facing wall was made of gray stone. A fire pit with an iron kettle hanging over it was attended by an older woman. On the other side of the space, a trestle table with a dozen chairs offered the only seating. Several trunks lined the east wall.

  “Tis clean,” Silvia said. “And I am sure the stairs lead to the master’s chamber.”

  “Aye,” he said, accustomed to meager accommodations since he left Norway. “There is another doorway over there, perhaps a third room.” He pointed. “I will make some changes here.” Eventually Konal would ask his youngest brother to relocate and oversee the steading.

  A few minutes later, Fiske joined them inside, with two women in tow. “Milord,” he bowed. “My own daughter, Saga, has asked to serve your lady.”

  The girl stepped forward and curtsied. “Sir.”

  “Thank you.” Konal smiled. “Silvia will be a kind mistress.”

  “And this is Queenie,” Fiske introduced the second woman. “Her grandmother is the cook. But the old bird is deaf, so Queenie stays close by.”

  Both women wore homespun dresses, patched and a drab brown color. And judging by their spare figures, they could use more sustenance. The bloody Saxons starved their servants. “I don’t want to interfere with your duties. Tis better to carry on as you would. Queenie…” he started. “Instruct your grandmother to serve a morningtide meal. Some bread and milk, and cheese if there’s enough.”