Strian (Viking Glory Book 4)

by Celeste Barclay

  Strian nodded, and they began to pick their way through the camp, trying not to draw attention to themselves. They made it to the edge of camp with no one questioning or detaining them. Gressa chose one tree and Strian moved to another a few trees down. They scrambled into the branches and watched the warriors tear apart the last of the camp. Men who had horses mounted, and the foot soldiers pulled their satchels with their few belongings over their head and shoulder. They jogged behind the horsemen until there was no one left. While they had made their camp at the base of a mountain, they were less than an hour from the coast. They would sail within the hour. Gressa and Strian needed to run to intercept their tribe and direct them back to their ships.

  Strian looked over at Gressa, impressed that she was still running at a steady pace after an hour. The route had been flat most of the time, but they had covered several miles. Gressa halted, and Strian worried she was hurt or could go no further.

  “Listen,” Gressa turned her head as though she could hear better. “Horses. It must be them.”

  Strian heard it once they stopped. He nodded his head, and they took off again. It was only a quarter of an hour before the first horses came into sight. They jumped from the path and lay on the ground to observe the approaching riders until they were sure Bjorn was at the front of the group.

  Strian and Gressa stood in the center of the path as Bjorn, Tyra, Freya, Erik, Leif, and even a very pregnant Sigrid who sat in front of her husband approached.

  “About damn time we found you two,” Bjorn snarled. “Do you have any idea how much you worried my aunt?”

  Strian and Gressa both pulled their lips in to keep from smiling as Bjorn blamed Lena’s concern for their breakneck ride to find them.

  “You worried my wife, but what Bjorn is too proud to admit is you gave us all a scare.” Strian and Gressa had not seen Ivar riding in the group.

  “We’re sorry,” Gressa bowed her head to her jarl. “It wasn’t our intention.”

  “We assumed as much, and Sigrid confirmed it when she had a vision. She was the one who alerted us that you were gone,” Freya grinned. “We assumed you’d just gone home and were, um, otherwise occupied.”

  Gressa and Strian exchanged a glance, both of their cheeks reddening as they remembered what they had done earlier that night and why their friends’ assumption was reasonable.

  “Not quite.” Strian smirked at Freya but turned a serious face to Ivar. “We had intended to see what we could discover. We were already in the woods when we stopped to talk, so we scouted. A group of bowmen sitting in the trees caught us. We spent the night as guests in Grímr’s camp.”

  “Must have been lovely,” Tyra added wryly.

  “Very,” Gressa once more joined the conversation after assessing each of their friends’ reaction to finding them, to finding her. “We learned a few things.”

  Ivar dismounted and stepped forward.

  “You can share all of that in a moment.” He stared at the dried blood on Gressa’s tunic. She had forgotten about it. Ivar did not hesitate to pull her into a tight embrace. He whispered near her ear, “You terrified not only Lena but me. We feared we had lost two more of our children.”

  Gressa squeezed Ivar before pulling back far enough to whisper, “I’m sorry, truly.”

  Ivar kissed her forehead and nodded before turning to Strian. His eyes swept over the bruises and still swollen shut eye.

  “You’re a mess,” Ivar barked then pulled Strian into a manly embrace. “Don’t scare years off my life like that again. You’re not too old or too big for a good arse paddling.”

  Once Ivar released Strian, the younger man slung his arm around Gressa’s waist and pulled her against his side as they exchanged a glance, both relishing Ivar’s admission of love and affection to both orphans.

  “Now that we have that straightened out, can we discuss things that are important?” Bjorn groused.

  Tyra leaned over and pinched her husband’s ribs none too gently.

  “Stop being an ogre. Or sleep alone.” Tyra’s voice might have been a whisper if she had not intended for everyone to hear.

  “It’s a good thing I love you. You mistreat me so,” Bjorn’s eyes twinkled despite sounding beleaguered.

  “I saw you fighting with a man who wasn’t Grímr, Gressa. He had black hair and a slim build, but he was very strong. He spoke of a dead babe and you being his wife.” Sigrid spoke up as she rubbed her belly at the mention of a babe. Leif’s arms tightened around his wife.

  Gressa’s eyes widened as she looked at Strian in panic. She had not planned for anyone to find out about the child they lost, and she had not wanted to explain why a man assumed he would marry her when Strian’s friends knew he had not moved on from her.

  Strian tucked her head against his chest and answered for them.

  “Gressa was carrying my child before we left for that raid. It was too early for us to know, and by the time she healed from her injuries, she couldn’t travel. Never mind that no one would take her. Her injuries and illness left little for the babe, and he died upon birth. The Welsh wouldn’t allow Gressa to bury our son, so she stayed rather than abandon him to a Christian grave.” Strian realized he had been stroking Gressa’s hair while he spoke. He dropped a kiss on her crown before carrying on. “Rhys was the prince’s younger brother and pursued Gressa, demanding marriage. She refused him for years, and finally he went too far. He threatened my life and insulted our child’s death. Gressa had no choice but to avenge us both.”

  “That makes what I saw more understandable. But I sensed people running from somewhere. It wasn’t you. I could only see the shapes of men but no one clearly,” Sigrid rubbed her temple as if that would make her vision clearer or strengthen her memory. “I felt like Grímr was escaping once again.”

  Gressa looked up from Strian’s side and nodded.

  “He is. They tore down the camp, so no one could see it from a distance, but they retreated to the coast. Strian and I believe they’re sailing back to Wales. Grímr will seek safe harbor there until he can lick his wounds. He knows he’s fighting a losing battle, over and over, but he refuses to give in. With Rhys dead and Rowan captured, there is little reason for Dafydd to allow him to stay. There’s little chance Strian and I will be able to go there either.” She finished in a whisper.

  Sigrid opened her mouth but snapped it shut. Gressa stared at Sigrid wondering what the seer had just been about to say, but Sigrid gave a tiny shake of her head. Gressa was sure Sigrid knew of Strian’s and her conundrum of where to live and what to do about their son’s grave. She appreciated that Sigrid kept her thoughts to herself. By the looks on everyone’s faces, the news that they had had a child was more than enough for the moment.

  “How much of a head start do they have?” Leif asked.

  “Two hours.”

  “It’ll take us more than that to get back to the homestead and ready the ships. The best we can hope for is to sail with the morning tide,” Erik looked behind them as if he could see all the way back to the village.

  “Bjorn, ride with Tyra and let me ride with Gressa.”

  Bjorn grumbled, but no one missed his hand roving over his wife’s body. Strian mounted then helped Gressa onto the horse. Ivar had only brought mounted warriors with him, not wanting to slow their pace. They rode back to the settlement only stopping once to let the horses rest and drink.

  Twenty-One

  While members of both Ivar’s and Rangvald’s tribes were happy to see them return, Gressa’s welcome was lukewarm at best. Only Lena and Rangvald’s wife Lorna seemed happy to see her.

  “Why is she back?” Someone grumbled within the crowd as Strian dismounted and lifted Gressa from the saddle.

  “Did Strian capture her again?”

  “He can’t see past fucking her to know she’s a spy.”

  The last comment elicited a bellow from Strian that made everyone pause.

  “Enough!” He roared. “She is my wife. She always ha
s been, and there is no way she will ever be anything else. You will cease accusing her. You will cease taunting her. If I find anyone, anyone, does anything to run afoul of her, I will kill you. She is not a spy. If it wasn’t for Gressa, we wouldn’t know half of what we do about Grímr’s plans and where he’s headed.”

  “And if we hadn’t had to chase after her, they would never have known we were prepared to attack. Now we have to chase after him again,” an angry woman's voice came from the warriors still mounted.

  Strian spun around, glaring at Magga, one of the two women who had attacked Gressa when she first arrived.

  “Do not count on being a woman to spare you. Nor the mistake I made years ago taking a ride between your thighs. Get down.”

  Strian’s voice sent chills running down Gressa’s back. She stepped forward, willing to intervene on the woman’s part to keep Strian from murdering her in front of the entire tribe. His glare swung to her, and she took a step back.

  “She asked for it. She defied me and now she will die.” Strian softened his gaze as he looked into Gressa’s shocked eyes. He had not meant to direct his anger at her. “No one will mistreat you again.”

  Strian looked to Ivar and at the jarl’s nod, he wrenched Magga from the saddle, driving a knife into her middle before she touched the ground. He threw her body from him, knowing she would be dead soon but not before she suffered a painful death.

  “Who’s next?” At his demand, many took a step back, shaking their heads. He looked to Gressa, and she understood the question in his eyes. She nodded. “You all want to know why Gressa didn’t try harder to come home. She had her reasons. We had a son who did not survive his birth. He’s buried there. In a Christian grave.”

  The last sentence drew gasps as understanding looks spread through the crowd.

  “Why couldn’t you have just told us that?” Leif asked.

  “Because it was nobody’s damn business but ours,” Strian snapped. “Why would I make my wife relive that pain just to ease the gossips’ nosiness? She’s been a member of this tribe since birth. She’s my wife. That should have been enough for everyone. If it had been anyone else, it would have. Instead you have attached a stigma to her for something she could never control.”

  Strian looked around before continuing.

  “Yes, Gressa is half Sami. That will make our children part Sami, too. Accept my wife and my children, or we leave.”

  “Strian,” Tyra gasped.

  “Gressa and Strian aren’t going anywhere. I will deal with anyone, personally, foolish enjoy to insult my sister or my nieces and nephews.” Freya called out. “You know my parents have always welcomed Gressa in their home just as Leif and I have been. Speak against her, and you speak against the jarl’s family. Your death will be your own fault.”

  Freya swung down from her horse and pulled Gressa from Strian. She squeezed, making Gressa cough.

  “I’m so sorry. I should have protected you, too. You didn’t deserve my censure.” Freya’s voice cracked as she confessed in Gressa’s ear.

  “You protected me. More than once.”

  Tyra joined the two women in their embrace then the three turned to face the crowd, united once more as they had been as children. With one dead body on the ground, and the jarl’s extended family standing as one, no one dared voice any opposition to Gressa.

  “What have you learned?” Rangvald stepped forward.

  “Grímr knew someone was approaching. His spies warned him, but we never heard if he knew how many of you rode towards him. My guess is he thought there were far more of you since he abandoned their tents and many of their supplies. He is heading to the coast.” Gressa spoke up, unwilling to fade into the background after Strian defended her. “The man, Rowan, you still hold is Prince Dafydd’s younger brother, but so was a man named Rhys. He was among the archers who captured us and took us to Grímr’s camp. He made the mistake of speaking ill of the dead and threatening Strian. His body is near the embers of a fire, left for the carrion to pick apart. We think Grímr knows the Trondelag is no longer safe for him. There is no one who’ll willing allow him to live on their land, and he has no home to return to since you burned the settlement. Besides, he has no real tribe left. I know most of the men are dead, and the women who escaped Inga’s slave trade surely didn’t return. He swore vengeance for his sons’ deaths, but it was his pride not his heart that spoke. He needs to lick his wounds. I believe he’ll impose upon Dafydd to host him as he stokes the anger Dafydd will undoubtedly feel once he knows one brother is dead, and the other is a prisoner. He’ll try to convince Dafydd to give him more forces to return here, or he’ll claim he has lured us there when we follow.”

  Gressa spoke as though their sailing to Wales was a foregone conclusion.

  “How large an army could Dafydd raise against us?” Rangvald asked.

  “That’s complicated. The Welsh are a lot like us. Rather than jarls, they have princes. Each prince has a portion of the larger area known as Wales. The princes are all related one way or another, so it just depends on their family history whether they’ll come to Dafydd’s aide or will look at it as a chance to kill him in his sleep.” Gressa shrugged. “I can think of at least three that’ll come to Dafydd’s side if he calls. With those three allies, Dafydd would have at least six hundred warriors.”

  Everyone took in the final piece of information, knowing their numbers paled compared to what this Welsh prince could rally. Both Ivar’s and Rangvald’s tribes had lost too many lives in the ongoing war with Grímr to bring that many warriors with them. Lorna stepped forward.

  “My clan will fight again,” Lorna rested her hand on Rangvald’s arm. “You know Alex will come to our aid. If the Mackays fight, the other clans will come, too. The MacLeods, Sutherlands, and Mackenzies lost men to Grímr, the Rosses, and the Munros. They will want their chance to end Grímr’s alliances for stirring up trouble where there has been none in yonks.”

  Rangvald looked at his wife. Even thirty years after he brought her to live among the Norse, her Highland beauty outshone every other woman. Most people would argue Lorna was more beautiful than any woman in Scotland or the Trondelag, but she seemed unaware and disinterested in her appearance. Instead, she was as finely trained a warrior as any shield maiden, and despite bearing six children, she was still as strong as any woman half her age.

  “Blood thirsty as ever,” Rangvald grinned at Lorna.

  “You always say that,” Lorna harrumphed. “As though I’m the only one.”

  “If you believe Alex and the others will ride with us, then we set sail for Scotland first then on to Wales.” Rangvald looked over Lorna’s head to Ivar who nodded.

  “This time, I sail with you. There is no great threat here as long as Grímr is so far away.” Ivar’s usually stern face broke into a wide smile. “This fight ends now, and I will not miss it by waiting like an old man before the fire. I still have a few more battles in me. Besides, we cannot leave Rangvald to think he’s the greatest warrior in the land. He needs reminding I still best him every time.”

  The crowd scattered as people hurried to complete their duties to prepare for sailing in the morning. Tyra and Bjorn went to the docks to begin their inspection of the fleets. Tyra’s innate ability to sail as though she was born to the waves had earned her a position as the captain of Ivar’s entire fleet. Her skills were so well known that she led the entire mission while they were at sea last time. Bjorn refused to sail his own ship now that he was married. Instead he handed his longboat over to his first mate and gladly took a demotion to his wife’s first mate. Tyra and Freya had the unusual luxury of a cabin on each of their boats because Ivar insisted that his daughter and her best friend have privacy. Bjorn intended to make use of the privacy every night, and Tyra did not complain when she could give her husband orders. Freya and Erik still maintained their own ships, but Erik usually slipped onto the Freya’s boat each night.

  Strian and Gressa finished talking to Strian’s c
rew and were on their way back to their longhouse when they heard Leif and Sigrid arguing.

  “I am going on this mission. I will be useful. And you are not convincing me otherwise,” Sigrid’s voice rose with each declaration.

  “And I’m not taking my very pregnant wife into battle with me!” Leif’s booming voice seemed to echo throughout the settlement.

  “Fine. Figure it out on your own. But it won’t be me they blame.” Sigrid stood with her arms crossed over her belly as she tapped her foot.

  “Oh no, you don’t. You are not using your gift as leverage. I’m not watching them murder my wife and child all because you don’t want to miss this saga’s ending!”

  “And I’m telling you, we will be fine.”

  “I’d ask how you know, but that would be a waste of time. However, we also know that fate can change. It takes only one person defying the gods, and everything you’ve seen could be for naught. I won’t risk that, Sigrid. I’ll stay behind if that’s what it takes.”

  By the time Leif finished, there was real anguish in his voice. Sigrid took pity on him and stepped into his embrace. Strian and Gressa felt like intruders watching the couple, but they could not get to their home without passing them.

  “Leif, you have to trust me on this. I have to be there. It’s all part of the prophecy. We all have to be there.”

  Strian felt for Leif, understanding his friend’s plight. He had not voiced it aloud, but he wished Gressa would stay behind, too. The last time they sailed on a mission together, he had lost her for ten years. It terrified him the same might happen again.

  “She would have told me if I shouldn’t go,” Gressa whispered to Strian. She saw the sympathy in Strian’s eyes as he watched Leif, and she knew what worried him. “We didn’t know Sigrid then. There was no way for her to warn us if she had seen the battle. If she says she needs to go, then we have to support her.”