The Pirate Bride

by Sandra Hill

  “I would appreciate all you could do for Thrudr.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “You do not intend to go back? Ever?”

  She shook her head. “The Norns of Destiny are leading me in a new direction.”

  The expression on his face was one of both anger and confusion.

  As she walked away, tears streaming down her face, which Thork could not see, she felt him staring at her back.

  “It is done,” she told Sigurd and Leistr when she returned to them. “Please do not ever mention his name to me again.”

  Later that night, Lady Alinor slipped into her tent. She put fingertips to her lips to warn Medana to speak softly.

  “What is wrong?” Alinor asked right off. “Why have you rebuffed my son? He is in a drukkinn rage, at the moment.”

  Medana shook her head sadly. “I cannot help him.”

  “Can you help yourself, my dear?”

  “That is exactly what I am doing.”

  Alinor pondered her words, then glanced around the small tent. “Are you here alone? No maid?”

  “Just me. My brother is in the next tent.”

  “Not even the young woman and boy that were taken the same day as you?”

  “Nay, they are not here. They are back at Leistr’s estate.” Medana averted her eyes when telling this. The old lady saw too much.

  “Safe?”

  She nodded.

  “Just one question, Medana. Do you love my son?”

  Medana could not answer.

  But Alinor had gotten what she came for. She patted Medana’s arm and left, but not before advising, “Pray.” She was smiling.

  It was a medieval version of Law and Order . . .

  The elderly, white-haired law speaker, Steinvor of Lade, stepped up to the dais of the massive, open-sided tent where the Althing court would be held. If she were not so scared, Medana would have been fascinated by the Althing procedure.

  The king sat in the center of a long table on the raised platform, surrounded by more than a dozen jarls and minor kings who would help settle the disputes of the day. Among them was Thork’s father, Tykir, who looked down at Medana and winked. Tykir’s jewel-adorned raiment would have done any king proud. The wink jarred her, but only for a moment. She sat stoically between Sigurd and Leistr, both of whom had firm hands on her forearms as if she might jump up and run away. Not at this late date.

  Steinvor rapped his staff on the wooden floor of the dais, a call to attention, not just to the hundred or so men assembled in the tent but to the many hundreds sitting out on the grassy slopes on either side. They all had weapons and shields to be used in the vapnatak, the weapon clatter, the way voting took place at an Althing. There were no women present, except for those accused and witnesses who might be testifying. Medana did not want to turn around and see if Alinor might be there, for fear she would see Thork and lose all her nerve.

  “Hear ye, one and all. The law court of King Harald is about to begin. I will recite the laws of old so they will be remembered.” He commenced outlining the laws of the Norselands, the crimes and punishments. There were no written documents, so he would list one third of them today, from memory, and the other two thirds tomorrow and the next day in the subsequent law courts. Such things as the penalty for thievery, which was chopping off of a hand, or a fine so large that the person was unable to pay it. A witch could be stoned. Certain wergilds were assessed for various crimes, depending on the severity of the crime and the social status of the victim.

  Finally, it was time for various cases to be heard. First up was a charge of adultery for which a man wanted recompense from his wife’s lover’s family. Not only was a public flogging of the woman levied, but her family would have to take her back home in disgrace. Her lover would have to pay an oxen and five mancuses of gold to the aggrieved husband, but no flogging for him. Male justice!

  Next came two farmers who had a boundary dispute, which was settled by one having to pay the other for having pastured his cows on the other’s land. The evidence was cow piles the aggrieved man brought to the court, much to the amusement of the crowd.

  A man who murdered a friend by pushing him off a cliff was let go with a stern warning. Apparently, both men had been drukkinn for days and equally to blame.

  Finally, it was Medana’s turn.

  The law speaker read out her accused crime. Murder.

  To her surprise, Tykir stood and addressed the king. He was dressed in such fine attire, he could have been one of the minor kings. “I respectfully submit that this case be dismissed. The family of the dead man, Jarl Ulfr, has agreed to my family paying a wergild of five hundred mancuses of gold. In return, we will not ask for a wergild on Lady Geira of Stormgard for rape and bodily assault.”

  For a moment, Medana forgot that she was Geira.

  “What?” Sigurd shouted as he stood and shook a fist in the air. “What right has this family to interfere in my family’s business? Geira is my sister.”

  King Harald, already bored with the morning’s events and anxious to be off to something more entertaining, like enjoying his new third wife, asked, “Does that mean, Sigurd, that you would prefer to pay the wergild on your sister’s behalf?”

  “Well, nay, but . . .” Sigurd’s face was red with humiliation. Everyone knew how tight-fisted Sigurd was with a coin, and now they also knew how little he valued his sister.

  “Let us take a vote,” the law speaker said.

  The air was filled with the loud weapon clatter.

  “The matter is now settled,” the law speaker proclaimed.

  “Next?” the king prodded the law speaker.

  “Wait,” Sigurd yelled. “I need the king’s permission to arrange a marriage between my sister and Jarl Leistr Adilsson.”

  “Why would you need my permission?”

  “Because we wish to grant Jarl Adilsson my sister’s dower lands at Snow Pines as part of the marriage settlement.”

  “You wish to break the Odal rights?” the king homed right in to the heart of the matter. “Are there any objections?”

  Thork stood and glared their way. “You are bloody damn right there are objections.”

  “And who are you?” the king asked as Thork stepped forward.

  “Your . . . um, cousin,” Thork said, addressing the king. “Twice or thrice removed. I think.”

  “Another close relative I ne’er knew about?” the king said to Tykir.

  “Exactly. He is my son,” Tykir proclaimed proudly from the other end of the dais table.

  “And what have you to do with this case?” the king asked Thork.

  “Medana . . . I mean Geira . . . is my betrothed.”

  “Wh-what?” Leistr sputtered, standing in outrage. “She is my betrothed.”

  The king rolled his eyes. “Things are becoming clearer and more confusing.” He sighed and motioned to Thork. “Go on, explain this situation to me. And make it quick. My stomach is growling.”

  “This man,” Thork said, pointing to Sigurd, “sorely abused his sister over the years and then offered her in a marriage to a man known for his perversions. I will not go into details here, to spare the deceased’s family, but they were well-known at the time.”

  “That is not true. I did what was best for my willful sister,” Sigurd contended.

  “Does anyone want to know what I have to say?” Medana said, standing between her brother and Leistr.

  “Nay!” the king and most of the men shouted.

  “Women do not speak at Althings,” the king declared. “Sit down.”

  Well, that is not fair, but why should I be surprised?

  Into the silence could be heard a clearing of the throat. An exaggerated clearing of the throat. Everyone turned to see the king’s third wife, a woman one third the king’s age, with bosoms that drew every male eye in the vicinity. She said nothing, but she had her ring-covered fingers gripping her hips and an eyebrow arched in disbelief. Clearly, she was not happy with her husband’s
remark about women.

  “Mayhap we could make an exception and let Lady Geira speak,” the king conceded.

  There was some grumbling in the crowd while Sigurd and Leistr protested vehemently. But Thork was smiling. Little did he know that there would be little to smile over shortly.

  The king propped an elbow on the table and braced his chin on the open palm. “So, Lady Geira, or should I call you the Sea Scourge?”

  Uh-oh. Not a good start. “Um. Lady Geira will do.”

  “You do know that the only reason you are not being called before this court for crimes of piracy is that no men will admit to being bested by females?”

  “We stole from women, too,” she said before she could bite her fool tongue.

  The crowd loved her response, and they cheered and whooped with laughter.

  “Good to know,” the king said drolly.

  She felt herself blushing.

  “My king, I protest this farce. Letting a woman speak . . .” Sigurd blustered.

  “Shut up!” the king said bluntly. Then, turning to Medana, “You were saying?”

  “I appreciate the Althing court’s decision regarding my . . . uh, crime. And I appreciate all the Tykirsson family did to gain the wergild. However, I must accede to my brother’s wishes now.”

  “Which means?” The king was clearly ready for her case to be ended.

  “I will marry Jarl Leister if the court approves.”

  “Vote called?” the law speaker called out.

  “Wait!” Thork yelled. “I would beg the court to dismiss the Torsson men’s guardianship of Lady Geira and transfer it to . . . to . . . my father.”

  Tykir looked surprised at this turn of events but immediately spoke up. “Yea, I would be a better guardian.”

  “And why is that?” the king wanted to know.

  “Because I would not beat her bloody.”

  The crowd roared and Sigurd looked as if he would explode from all the blood rushing to his face. “I protest. I did only what any man would do to discipline his charge. We all know how willful women can be.”

  Everyone turned to the king’s young wife to see her reaction. She was not happy.

  “Be that as it may, and, yea, a husband, or a father, or a guardian has the clear right to use the rod when necessary, but what has that to do with the message Lady Geira just imparted to this court?” the king asked.

  “She is being coerced,” Thork charged.

  Medana could not look at him when she declared, loud enough for all to hear, “I am not being coerced. I go to Lord Leistr willingly.” She put a hand through Leistr’s arm for emphasis.

  “For approval of the marriage of Lady Geira to Lord Leistr, do we hear aye or nay?” The weapon clatter clearly favored the marriage.

  The king said, “Now, how about that case where the man claims to have two cocks, which he was exposing in the marketplace? I can’t wait to hear that one.”

  She glanced over to see Thork being held back by his brothers. Quickly Sigurd and Leistr whisked Medana out of the tent and toward the wharf, where Sigurd’s ship was ready to set sail. She had no chance to talk with anyone, and what could she say, anyhow? The die was cast. In order to save Agnis and Egil, she would wed a man old enough to be her grandfather. But then, other women faced such a fate all the time. She would have to learn, after ten years of independence, how to be a submissive wife.

  By nightfall, she was halfway to Stormgard. Sigurd had anchored his longship near the shoreline, giving the rowers a chance to rest. She was in the tiny quarters in the center of the vessel, waiting with dread for Leistr to come insist on his preconjugal rights. In the meantime, he and Sigurd were on deck celebrating their victory with a tun of ale.

  She’d cried ’til there were no more tears and had fallen into a half sleep when she was awakened by a loud noise. It sounded like the longship had hit something hard, but how could that be? It was anchored some distance from land. Bang! Thud! Then sounds of shouting.

  Peeking out through the sailcloth curtain, Medana was amazed to see huge iron hooks being tossed over their ship’s rails by another ship that had come up beside it. The men on the other longship were tugging on the ropes until the two longships were rail to rail and men could jump from one boat to the other.

  “Pirates! Pirates! We’re being attacked by pirates!” she heard one of Sigurd’s men shout.

  Oh my gods! Please do not let it be the women of Thrudr. They will get themselves killed in an out-and-out battle.

  “Ahoy there! Prepare to be boarded,” a loud male voice hollered. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Thork! Peering out, she saw dozens of men clamoring over the rails, swords and lances raised high. And not just Thork, who was barefooted and dressed in pirate attire, right down to knee-length, cut-off breeches and a red kerchief wrapped around his head in a rascally fashion. His father and brothers Guthrom and Starri were similarly attired. While Thork’s thunderbolt earring in one ear glittered in the moonlight, Tykir and his other two sons wore gold hoops.

  She ducked back inside when she saw there was actual fighting taking place. In fact, Thork’s sword cut a bloody swath across Sigurd’s chest, causing her brother to drop to his knees with a shriek of pain. All around was the clamor of metal hitting metal, bodies falling, battle cries, and screams of pain.

  When the noise died down somewhat, she peeked outside again, and saw Sigurd, Leistr, and the crew gathered together near a plank that had been erected on one rail, extending out over the water. Tykir came up and stood directly in front of her, arms folded over his chest, barring her from coming out on deck.

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  “The scurvy bastards are being given a choice, the blade or the plank.”

  “ ’Tis death either way,” she decided. “You have to stop Thork.”

  Tykir shook his head. “The men can swim to shore and eventually find a way home.”

  “But some of them . . . Sigurd . . . are wounded.”

  Tykir shrugged.

  “I have to stop him.” Medana tried to step around Tykir’s big body.

  “Nay, wench, you are Thork’s pirate booty. He wants you to stay here until he can deal with you.”

  “Pirate booty? Me? Deal?” she sputtered.

  “Here, have a drink,” Tykir offered, handing her a wooden cup, filled with what turned out to be wine. She didn’t want wine, but before she could tell Tykir, the drape had been dropped with a warning that she would be tied to the mast pole if she came out again. In fact, a huge crate was pushed in front of where the opening would be so that she couldn’t get out even if the big man was no longer guarding her.

  All she knew of what was going on was shouting, laughter, screams, splashing, splashing, splashing, cursing aplenty, and threats. Then she felt the movement of the ship. She could hear male voices, occasionally Thork’s, and it appeared they were drinking to celebrate their pirate venture. At one point, Tykir exclaimed to someone, “If I’d known pirating was so much fun, I would have done it long ago.”

  Finally, the longship dropped anchor. She heard the same loud sound again of wood against wood. The two longships bumping each other. Much talking and laughing. And movement. Then silence.

  Were they leaving her here alone on a ship to die of thirst or starvation? Nay, that was too ludicrous to imagine. But what were they about? What was Thork about?

  Eventually, she drank the wine and lay down on a rough pallet, never intending to sleep. Just rest. But sleep she did, and soundly.

  It was mid-morning by the time she awakened with a dry mouth that tasted like—she licked her lips—oh nay! The sleeping draught!

  But that wasn’t all. She felt a warmth on her skin. Her bare skin. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find the sun beating down on her. And she was tied to the mast pole. Naked.

  Blinking, she was finally able to focus. Thork stood a short distance away, sipping at a drink. Not a sleeping draught, she would wager. There appeared to be no one els
e on deck, and no other longship nearby. And thank the gods for that because the scoundrel was naked, too.

  “Well, well, well, wench,” Thork drawled out. “Finally, you awaken.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  He shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Gone?”

  “And the men you forced overboard. Are they dead?”

  He shrugged. “Are you worried about your betrothed?”

  “Nay, I am worried about you, and about . . .” She could not mention Agnis and Egil. There might still be a way to save them. “Go back. Get Sigurd and Leistr. Mayhap it is not too late.”

  “It is too late,” he said, and picked up a leather case, carrying it over to set on the deck near her feet.

  What was it? Ah! She soon found out.

  He undid the ties and opened it to reveal a specially designed velvet lining to showcase dozens of different kinds of feathers.

  “What are you going to do?” she squeaked out.

  “ ’Tis not what I am going to do. ’Tis what we are going to do.”

  He picked up one long-quilled feather with hundreds of silky tendrils, which he ran sensuously through his fingers. “You have heard of going a-Viking and a-pirating,” he drawled out in a sex-husky voice. “But we, my fine wench, are going a-feathering.”

  Feathering his nest, Viking style . . .

  Thork was relieved to have Medana back with him, but he was also blistering mad that she’d chosen Leistr as a husband. In front of the entire Althing. A clear rejection of him. Humiliating.

  She would pay, but in his own particular way.

  He walked around, studying her nude body from all angles. “Well, well, well, who is a captive now, wench?”

  She groaned inwardly, realizing his intent. He was reversing the tables on her.

  “I cannot decide which side and which part of your body I like best.”

  “Hmpfh! I can guess. You are a man. Men home in on one thing only.”

  He flicked the silky feather over her mouth in reprimand. “I am not every man. I do have favorites, though. Those full, kiss-some lips of yours, for example.”

  She licked her lips, probably trying to make them less kiss-some. He had news for her. She had done just the opposite.