The Pirate Bride

by Sandra Hill

  “Well, there are other signs, as well. Like moodiness,” Alinor continued.

  “She snaps my head off every time I get near her,” Thork told them.

  “I did that from the first time I met your irksome self,” Medana said.

  Again, Thork grinned with ill-placed pride.

  “And piss. My lady wife had to piss all the time when she was carrying,” Tykir disclosed.

  Medana had been visiting the privy a lot, but she’d attributed it to nervousness with all the people about.

  “Of course, a sure as certain sign is that the nipples and aureolae, those rings around the nipples, get darker in color.” This intimate detail from Tykir again.

  “Father!” Thork chided with a laugh.

  “Lackwit!” Alinor slapped Tykir on the arm.

  “What? ’Tis the truth.”

  “You do not discuss female parts in public,” Alinor explained.

  “This is not public. This is family,” Tykir grumbled.

  Me? Family?

  Alinor turned her attention to Medana with a questioning expression on her face.

  “I have not looked there lately,” Medana said, with an even hotter face. Any more blushing, and the skin on her cheeks would catch fire.

  “I could check for you,” Thork offered.

  She was the one slapping Thork’s arm now.

  “How about food cravings?”

  She exchanged a glance with Thork, whom she knew was recalling the carrot last night. Which brought other images to mind. She could tell they had like minds when he winked at her. The rogue! “None that I can think of,” Medana lied.

  “Remember the time you caught me eating gammelost and honey, heartling,” Alinor said to her husband. “That is how you knew I was carrying Thork.”

  Thork made a gagging sound, and Medana wasn’t sure if it was at the idea of stinky cheese and honey, or the prospect of his parents getting nostalgic.

  “Well, whether you are increasing or not is not really the issue, Medana. You are a highborn lady compromised by a highborn man, and that requires a marriage,” Tykir declared.

  “Nay!” she and Thork said at the same time.

  “Let us not rush things,” Thork said.

  The insensitive rat!

  His mother gave Thork a look that would melt a rock.

  “I did not mean—” Thork tried to hedge.

  “I would not marry the loathsome lout if he knelt on burning coals and begged me,” Medana proclaimed.

  Alinor smiled, and Medana realized that she’d slipped by calling Thork a “loathsome lout.”

  “We have decided that you should come back to Dragonstead with us,” Tykir said in a voice that brooked no argument. “We will leave some men behind for protection of Thrudr. That way your concerns over the vulnerability of the island will be taken care of. You will be out of reach of your brothers or the king’s men, if it comes to that, since you will be under my shield. And you and Thork will have an opportunity to make decisions about your future together. Know this, my dear Medana, if you are carrying my grandchild, it will be born in marriage. I know from personal experience the scorn that illegitimacy carries.”

  This was a long speech for Tykir to make, and they all remained silent taking in his words.

  “I do not want to leave Thrudr,” Medana insisted. There was no time for further discussion because Brokk, the young Viking comrade of Thork’s, came stumbling in. “Ships . . . there are ships headed toward Small Island.”

  “Well, we often have ships stop by for fresh water, or to deliver and pick up messages left by other passing vessels.”

  Brokk shook his head vigorously. “Bolthor said they carry flags that are identifiable, even from the mountaintop. Lady Katherine’s . . . she is Bolthor’s wife, and he is moaning and flailing his arms like a scared chicken. The two others have white thunderbolts against black fields.”

  “My brothers,” Medana gasped.

  Tykir stood and rubbed his hands together. “Nothing like a good fight to whet an old man’s juices!”

  “You are not fighting,” Alinor told her husband.

  Tykir picked his wife up off the bench and kissed her deeply on the mouth. “Try and stop me,” he said. “Come, Thork, we must gather the men and plan strategy.”

  Thork looked at Medana as if considering the same.

  “Do not dare,” she warned.

  He grinned and rushed out with his father, Brokk following after them.

  “Wait!” Medana said, but they were already gone.

  Alinor sat back down across the table from Medana, then glanced around at the empty cups and empty benches before saying, “That went well, didn’t it?”

  The worst possible thing happened . . .

  Thork stood on the mountaintop with his father and Starri, staring down at Small Island. It looked as if the three new ships were staying. That meant that one of his father’s men must have told them about the tunnel.

  Of course, Medana, Gudron, and several of the pirate warrior women were there, too. Medana insisted it was their island, their problem, and they must be involved in the solution.

  Bolthor was there also. Guthrom, Selik, and Thork’s other men were down in the village assembling every weapon on the island to get an idea of total inventory. They would also be helping to train the women warriors in fighting techniques they might not have yet mastered and refreshing their own skills. There were plenty of swords and lances and bows and arrows aboard his father’s longships, but they didn’t want to rush out at first low tide and alert Medana’s brothers that the island was now under the shield of the Thorksson family.

  “I will go through the tunnel first to forestall Katherine coming through,” Bolthor decided. “I fear for her safety when Medana’s brothers are here for their own devious purposes.”

  “That is a good idea,” Tykir said, “although my seamen know enough to offer her protection. Plus, Katherine did not come here without her own guardsmen. If you go through alone, they will not feel threatened.”

  “Medana, I think you need to stay out of sight. At first, leastways,” Thork said.

  She immediately stiffened, willful wench that she was. “I will not cower like a timid bird.”

  “ ’Tis not bravery that is needed here. Strategy is more important. Outwitting the enemy,” Tykir told her, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. If Thork had tried that, she would have clobbered him on the spot.

  “I understand. We women have had to resort to strategy as well, to compensate for our weak points. When a-pirating, we rarely confront our victims head-on,” Medana said.

  “Well said!” This from Starri, who showed his admiration with a full-body survey of Medana in her usual tunic and braies.

  Thork did not want Starri admiring Medana. “Then you will appreciate why you must stay out of sight,” Thork told her. “We do not want an immediate confrontation. Best we get a feel for your brothers’ reasons for being here before engaging in any fighting.”

  “Oh, I know why they are here. They want my land, meager as it is compared to their estates. They would take Thrudr, too, just to be mean. They gain their ends by having me tried for murder, then petition to the king to release my inheritance, especially since I have no daughter. Or they will force me to wed a man of their choosing who will be the puppet holder of the land. Of course, my life would soon be forfeit, either way. In the latter case, they would not want to risk my bearing a girl child who would be next in line.”

  “But you might already be carrying a girl child,” Tykir said.

  Medana put her face in both hands and groaned.

  “What?” Tykir asked.

  “Medana hasn’t mentioned anything to her women,” Thork told his father with disgust.

  “Why not?” His father was sincerely confused. To him, naught was sacred.

  “You are breeding?” Gudron asked Medana in a voice filled with hurt that Medana would not have told her, presumably one of her closest
friends.

  “Nay, I am not breeding,” Medana replied.

  “But she could be,” Thork interjected.

  Medana sliced him with a glance so icy he might just have icicles growing on his eyebrows.

  “I have an idea,” Starri said. “I could marry you, Medana.”

  Thork, stunned into momentary silence, turned slowly, very slowly, to gaze at his traitorous brother. His father was tapping his chin thoughtfully, as if actually giving it consideration.

  “Why would you make such a ridiculous offer?” Medana asked Starri.

  “It would give you further protection. And I have been wed afore. I like married life.” Starri shrugged and ran a fingertip up the sleeve of Medana’s tunic in a playful manner.

  “Medana will wed you over my dead body, Starri. Forget that idea.”

  “Thork! That is not your decision to make,” Medana said.

  “You want to marry my brother?” he inquired, and felt pitiful in the asking.

  “Nay, I do not want to marry your brother, or you, or anyone else. For the love of all the gods, stick to battle strategy.”

  Tykir looked from Medana to Thork and back again. Then he smiled. The sly old codger!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Never try to trick a trickster . . .

  Bolthor went out through the tunnel later that night.

  He would greet Medana’s brothers and assure them of a cordial reception awaiting them on the island of Thrudr. Once her brothers, depending on how many had come, left his sight, Bolthor would reunite with his wife—assuming she was in the mood for a reunion—then order some of the seamen aboard Tykir’s longship to gather as many weapons as possible and take them to the waiting men and women.

  The worst part was the waiting, in Thork’s opinion.

  Medana was up at the hunters’ longhut with Brokk, where she would stay until given the word that it was safe for her to come down. Thork had promised to send her periodic messages about who had come and what they wanted.

  Finally, torchlights appeared to be approaching through the tunnel. Several well-garbed men were at the head, leading a dozen guardsmen carrying broadswords and battle-axes.

  Thork stood at the forefront with his father and mother, his three brothers behind them, waiting for the visitors to come up the moveable stairs. All over the village, men and women carrying weapons stood at attention, a show of strength to their visitors.

  Once on the grassy area, his father said, “Welcome to Thrudr. I am Jarl Tykir Thorksson of Dragonstead, and this is my wife, Lady Alinor, and my son Thork. Behind us are my other three sons, Guthrom, Starri, and Selik. And over there are Mistresses Gudron, Berdis, and Solveig, representing the community of Thrudr.” The women wore helmets, chain mail, and gauntlets; they carried shields and deadly short swords.

  Tykir then arched his head for a reciprocal introduction.

  The first man wore a fine blue wool tunic over black braies, belted with a gem-studded belt, and carried a sword whose silver hilt must be worth a fortune. He said, “I am Jarl Sigurd Torsson. I believe my sister, Geira, may be residing here. I have come to take her home.”

  “Ah, I knew your father well. And these other men?” Tykir asked, ignoring Sigurd’s remark about Geira.

  “Two of my hersirs, Alfrim and Serk,” he said, indicating the men on either side of him, “and those behind me are housecarls assigned to Stormgard.”

  “And your brothers?” Tykir asked. “I understood there were three of you.”

  “I come alone,” Sigurd said, clearly impatient with the questions. “Where is Geira?”

  “There is no one here named Geira, is there?” Thork said, inclining his head toward Gudron and the women. They all shook their heads.

  “She probably goes by another name,” Sigurd said. “The Sea Scourge, some call her.” That last information Sigurd imparted with a sneer.

  “Ah, yea, the Sea Scourge,” Tykir responded.

  “She is indisposed at the moment,” his mother interjected, “but come join us for a cup of ale ’til she is available.” It was their intention to put the sleeping draught in their drinks, but only after they gained certain information.

  At some point, Thork intended to enact his own vengeance on Sigurd, as well. Just payment for the scars on Medana’s back. But that would come later.

  Sigurd was not happy at being forestalled.

  “You must know that there is only a two-hour time period for the tunnel to be open,” Thork said as they began to follow the group warily to one of the longhouses.

  “Time enough!” Sigurd commented, exchanging meaningful glances with his men. They were up to no good, that was certain.

  In the wake of Sigurd’s coming onto the island, Bolthor and Katherine managed to slip through the tunnel and bring a few weapons with them. Not many, not wanting to call attention to themselves. They had no news to report. Katherine said the men on the two boats that had arrived the same time she had were very closemouthed and had little to say when she asked questions. Once they knew she was no threat to their plans, they ignored her.

  An hour later, the Torsson group was growing increasingly impatient in the hall of the largest longhouse. Thork didn’t plan on giving them the tainted drink until they got more information out of them.

  Alinor asked Bolthor to say one of his sagas as a means of forestalling the men.

  “This is the saga of all Viking men,” a flustered Bolthor began.

  “Viking men are kind at heart.

  Some are even very smart.

  The best of them are strong in battle,

  But home hearth they can also straddle.

  Love their wives and concubines . . .”

  Katherine elbowed her husband in the ribs for that mention of concubines, but still Bolthor went on trying to distract the villainous visitors.

  “Tend their children with no whines.

  Balance is the key for many a Norseman

  When he is head of his clan.

  Virile but gentle

  Strong in battle, strong in the bedsport . . .”

  It was obvious that Bolthor was struggling to finish his poem under such pressure, and Sigurd and his men were becoming restless.

  “Where is my sister? I demand to see her now!” Sigurd said, standing and glaring at his surroundings. “What kind of demented place is this, anyhow, with naught but women?”

  “A pirate hiding place,” Thork responded, figuring that the secret was out by now, anyhow. “So tell me, why are you looking for Med— for Geira, after all these years?”

  “I ne’er stopped looking for her, but it was believed that she had died long ago until—”

  “Until—” Thork prodded.

  “Until I found my thrall Agnis at Hedeby hiding my son from me.”

  Oh, that was not good news. Medana would be very, very upset. That must be how Sigurd had learned of the island’s whereabouts and about the tunnel, not from his father’s seamen. “Where are they now?”

  “On my longship.” Sigurd indicated with a jerk of his head the direction of Small Island. “I am taking her and my son back to Stormgard with Geira.” By the brutish expression on his face, Thork knew without a doubt that his plans for all three back there would not be pleasant. Scars, at the least.

  “I thought Geira was guilty of some crime or other,” Alinor said with a wave of her hand, as if she couldn’t recall exactly what crime.

  “She is, but that is a matter for my family to handle. Geira should have come to us to begin with.”

  Hah! You were the ones to put her in that dire situation.

  “Women! They are willful creatures, are they not? Not capable of thinking on their own,” Tykir said.

  His mother appeared to be gritting her teeth, knowing her husband had good reasons for such insulting words.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Sigurd said.

  “Do you intend to send her to King Harald to account for her crime?” Tykir inquired with apparent casualness a
s he took another long draw on his horn of ale.

  “We shall see. It depends on how agreeable she is to a marriage we have arranged. A man of superior breeding. A little older, of course, and some say hard as stone, but then women need the guidance of a man with discipline.”

  For a moment, Thork feared his mother might leap over the table.

  A marriage arranged for Medana with an elderly man? “Over my dead body,” Thork murmured, which was becoming a familiar refrain by now.

  “That is not one of Medana’s brothers,” Freyja said, coming up to whisper in Thork’s ear.

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Thork recalled then that Freyja had been Geira’s nursemaid at one time. Another thought came to him then. He should have known. The Sigurd imposter did not have the violet eyes and full lips of the Torsson clan.

  He frowned with confusion, about to tell his father of this twist in their plans when there was a commotion outside. It was Brokk being helped by the young boy who’d been sent to give Medana their latest message. Brokk had a deep gash on his forehead, and he was dragging one leg, which might be broken.

  “Lock the doors!” his father yelled as Sigurd or whoever he was began to scramble into possible flight with his men.

  A bloody fight ensued, and to their credit, the women of Thrudr proved just as valuable as the men in fighting these miscreants. In the end, there were injuries on both sides, and the Sigurd poser was dead of a sword through the heart . . . Thork’s.

  Only then did the implications of Brokk’s injuries filter into Thork’s thinking. “Where is Medana?” he asked Brokk, whose wounds were already being treated by his mother.

  “Gone! Three of her brothers came, after you all left the tunnel area. They took her away.”

  A roaring in Thork’s head caused him to shake his head to clear it. He was trembling so hard he could scarce stand aright. “Where did they take her?”

  “I do not know. Out to their ship. They may be gone by now,” Brokk said, tears in his young eyes. “They hit her, Thork. In the face. And back. And belly.”

  A full-blown rage overtook Thork, turning him berserk.