Fingering his Thor’s hammer he looked back to the Seine, uttering a desperate prayer she might be his.
Dag’s voice once again jolted him back to reality, calling his name, drawing his attention to the low, grassy island they were passing. It looked no different from many in the wide delta, but he saluted, as did his brother. Every rower paused to gaze at the island.
He looked over his shoulder, noticing Judith’s curious frown. “It’s the site of the Vikings’ first encampment in the new land of Francia, the first chance for families to reunite after the voyage from Norway,” he shouted in explanation. “My father points it out whenever we pass.”
“He’s proud of his family’s history,” Judith said to Beatrice, noting the fresh air had restored color to her maid’s cheeks, though she still gripped the sea chest on which she sat with both hands, her knuckles white.
“Huh,” the maid grunted. “I doubt he’s a descendant of Charlemagne.”
Judith chuckled. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
Beatrice forced a grin. “I may as well die with a smile on my face. The river was so wide in some places I feared we were in the middle of some vast sea.”
Judith patted her hands, as relieved as her maid appeared to be that they’d reached the islands in the delta. “We will be safe,” she asserted.
As she spoke, the boat suddenly teetered atop a wave. It was as if every man on board held his breath. The wind picked up.
“Tide is turning,” Magnus yelled to the rowers. “Brace yourselves.”
Beatrice gripped Judith’s hand, her eyes wide.
The drumbeat changed, faster, faster.
Magnus staggered towards them as the longboat shuddered then pitched and rolled. Hunkering down beside them, he leaned towards Judith and put his mouth to her ear. “Hold tight. We’ve crested the flood tide. The only danger now is a tidal bore.”
“A tidal bore?” Judith parroted, her eyes fixed on the strong cords in his neck, just a breath away. She itched to lick him there, where the thong of the Thor’s Hammer—
“In Norway they called them malstrøm—whirlpools.”
She clutched her crucifix, a sudden breathless fear replacing her interest in his neck.
Beatrice struggled to stand. “I want to get off,” she babbled.
“Sit down,” Judith shouted, grabbing Beatrice’s arm. “Magnus knows what he’s doing. He’s sailed these waters many times. I don’t suppose whirlpools happen often?”
“I’ve seen one or two,” he replied, putting his hand on Judith’s. “But none big enough to swallow a longboat. My father told me of one in Norway. Saltstraumen, sucked down many a Viking ship.”
Beatrice collapsed against her mistress, whimpering.
Judith looked into Magnus’s eyes, seeking reassurance, a guarantee they would be safe.
He winked.
Her heart tossed against her ribs. “You’re teasing us.”
He frowned. “I can’t deny we might encounter a whirlpool, but I’ve navigated around them safely before. Trust me.”
As he stood, Dag called from the stern. “Malstrøm ahead, Magnus.”
Maelstrom
Magnus had half expected to encounter a bore, given the strength of the outgoing tide they’d ridden from Rouen. However, surveying the swirling waters ahead, it seemed the gods had deemed it necessary to punish him for boasting of his prowess with whirlpools.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have told of Saltstraumen. In his youth Bryk Kriger had watched the voracious vortex suck a longboat to its watery demise, but Magnus had deemed it wise not to mention that to the women. He had never forgotten the tale and listened when his father taught him how to navigate through the danger.
There was no way to avoid the whirling eddy. Thanking the gods Dag had already taken over the helm, he gestured forcefully to the right. “We enter that side,” he shouted, confident his orders would be followed. His brother had also heeded their father’s instructions.
Beatrice wailed like a demon loosed from Hel when Dag changed the boat’s course. Magnus understood her fear. His own belly churned, but riding the bore was the only way to survive it with all hands.
He took a quick look over his shoulder at the oarsmen. Their faces were stern, but there was no panic. They rowed as one, trusting their captain.
The trick was to keep the boat to the edge of the swirling water, not let it be drawn into the center. He kept his arm raised to the right, feeling Dag’s eyes on his back. It occurred to him briefly that Judith was probably staring at him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as the point of no return loomed. He raised his hand above his head and chopped the air straight ahead. “Now,” he yelled, despite knowing his voice would be lost to the roar of the water.
The boat lurched then surged straight ahead as if fired from a catapult. He breathed again, but they might still be sucked back. “Pull,” he shouted. “Pull.”
Within minutes the oarsmen had rowed them away from the danger and they were riding the waves into the wide bay. They had reached the sea.
The vision of Magnus standing boldly erect at the prow defying the mighty river’s power would remain forever in Judith’s mind. He’d shown no fear, no panic, only a certainty of what had to be done. The crew had followed his lead without hesitation.
Even Beatrice had calmed, seemingly resigned to place her life in his hands.
Following Magnus’s orders, Dag swung the boat, nudging it to a halt on the sandy shore of a cove.
Judith smiled as her Viking came towards her, not caring if the love and admiration swelling her heart was written on her face.
His own visage showed no sign of the danger he had carried them through. He too smiled as he hunkered down once more beside them. “We’ll overnight here. The crew will make up pallets for you and rig up a screen. It’s not ideal, and there’s naught I can do to stop the men’s snoring, but it’s best to stay on the boat.”
She touched his sleeve as he made to stand. “Thank you. You saved our lives.”
She savored the warmth of his hand when he placed it gently atop hers.
He shrugged. “Some of us might have ended up in the water, but it wasn’t a powerful enough whirlpool to cause the boat to break up. Besides, my father would have disowned me and Dag if we’d wrecked the Alexandria.”
She sensed he was playing down his skill and courage. “You are too modest,” she said, pressing his hand to her face.
Their eyes met. They stared at each other for long minutes, until Beatrice’s hoarse whisper jolted her from the warm cocoon of the desire in his gaze.
“Thank you, my lord Magnus. Forgive me for doubting you,” the maid said.
Black Cows
They departed at dawn for the short journey along the coast. Anxious to spend time with Judith, Magnus asked Dag to take the prow. He wanted to point out the landmarks, sensing she would enjoy the beauty of the coastline.
She moved to the end of his sea chest. “Beatrice is still asleep. Better if we don’t wake her,” she said, patting the space she’d made. “Sit with me.”
The maid was indeed curled up on the pallet, snoring softly, but sharing the chest wasn’t a good idea. He sat anyway.
They were too close, thigh to thigh, hip to hip.
She shivered, despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“You’re cold,” he said, curling his arm around her waist.
She smiled, pressing closer. “But you’re not. You’ll warm me.”
He wished he was naked on a bed of furs with her, sharing all his heat.
“Cottages,” she exclaimed, pointing to a hamlet on the shore.
“Aueville,” he explained.
“Such a beautiful place to live. Imagine seeing these beaches every day.”
“The only thing my father misses about Norway is being far from the sea. It’s in a Viking’s blood.”
“It smells different,” she said, inhaling deeply. The blanket slipped from her sh
oulders.
He averted his eyes quickly as her beautiful breasts rose and fell, the nipples pouting at the fabric of her gown.
She leaned closer. “Is Montdebryk far inland?”
“Two hours,” he rasped.
They sailed past dark cliffs with huge boulders on the beach beneath them. “Those rocks have rolled from the tops of the cliffs,” he told her.
She laughed. “They look like big black cows.”
It had never occurred to him before, but they did indeed look like cows. “Grazing on sand,” he said, savoring her broad grin. Afraid sweat might soon break out on his brow, despite the morning chill, he asked, “Are you warming up?”
She put one hand on his chest, the other on his thigh. “Yes. I can feel your heartbeat.”
He lifted the blanket back to her shoulders and kept his hand there. “It beats for you, Judith. God help me, but it beats for you,” he whispered.
She said nothing in reply, and they clung to each other in a silence broken only by the rhythmic splash of the oars, past miles and miles of golden beaches, until Dag’s voice broke the spell. “Ouistreham ahead. Mouth of the Orne. Almost home.”
Despite the heat of the sun, Judith had been chilled since Magnus’s return to the prow at the mouth of the Orne two hours before. It elated her that he had admitted his feelings. However, he was right. They were damning each other to eternal hell fire.
The men secured the Alexandria to a small but solid wooden dock. A wagon stood ready to transport the women to Montdebryk. As they journeyed the seven miles to his home, Judith snuggled deeper into the blanket, aware of Magnus’s growing excitement as he rode beside the wagon.
“How can you be cold in this heat?” Beatrice asked, fanning her face with her hand.
“I’m nervous about what will happen when we arrive,” she whispered. It wasn’t far from the truth. She dreaded meeting Bryk and Cathryn Kriger. What would they think of their son’s hostage? And the two little girls who grieved their mother—from what Magnus had admitted, it seemed possible they would be hostile to him, never mind her.
She caught sight of Montdebryk from a long way off. Surrounded by fertile meadows, the imposing edifice sat atop a promontory. She turned to Magnus, his anticipation at coming home evident on his handsome face. “Is it made of stone?” she asked.
“It is. My father swore he’d build a stone dwelling when he located the land he wanted. He didn’t want the forces of nature to destroy it, such as happened in Norway when their settlement was devastated by a storm tide.”
“So many trees,” she exclaimed. “Are those the orchards you spoke of?”
He grinned from ear to ear. “My father’s pride and joy. There’s a lake in the trees. I’ll take you there.”
The warm promise filled her with hope, but she resolved not to raise her expectations. His father might decide a hostage should be confined, and they must be careful to hide their sinful attraction from his daughters.
“But it’s more than a dwelling,” she said.
“It’s a sanctuary for local folk in times of trouble. Some have built cottages close by, as you see. It’s a fortress as well as a home. Hence the high walls and towers. And my father has plans for expansion.”
The pride in his voice warmed her heart. Her ancestors had struggled to build Bruggen into the thriving town it was today. Of course, her family had lived in Flandres for generations. Magnus belonged to the first generation of Vikings born in the new land of Normandie.
Magnus halted his horse abruptly, as did Dag. A lone rider had exited the fortress and was galloping in their direction. The two brothers grinned at each other.
“Who is it?” Judith asked nervously.
“Katarina,” Dag replied, getting off his horse.
Judith looked back at the rider hurtling towards them. “A woman?”
Magnus laughed as he dismounted. “My sister is a better rider than many men.” He chuckled when a diminutive young woman with a flowing banner of black hair leapt from her horse to rush at them.
“Magnus! Dag!” she cried.
The three jostled each other, laughing and kissing in a tight embrace that brought tears to Judith’s eyes. She and Arnulf had always been friends, but they had never shared the unreserved love she was witnessing. Did she consider her half brother as a friend after his desertion? She doubted he would pay the ransom demanded for her return.
Magnus took his sister’s hand and led her to the wagon. “Katarina, may I present Judith of Flandres. She and her maid will be our guests at Montdebryk. Judith, this is my baby sister, Katarina.”
To her astonishment, Katarina put a booted foot on the wheel and climbed over the side of the wagon. The girl was probably around her age, and she noticed for the first time her skirt was split down the middle.
“Judith of Flandres,” Katarina declared with a mock bow, “I bid you welcome to Montdebryk. You’re no doubt wondering what I am wearing. Riding in skirts is tiresome, so I had this outfit made.”
She opened her legs and bent her knees in an unladylike posture, revealing that the skirt was fashioned like male leggings, only much wider. “See,” she announced.
Judith privately thought the scandalous garment a wonderful idea, but was wary of seeming too friendly. Magnus had introduced her as a guest, but Katarina would soon discover she was a captive. “Thank you for your welcome,” she said with as much grace as possible, aware she and the blanket reeked of salt and sweat. “I’m afraid the journey has taken its toll.”
Katarina leaned over to punch Magnus in the shoulder. “Have my brothers not taken care of you?”
Judith looked into his eyes. “Oh, yes. Magnus has taken good care of me.”
She averted her gaze quickly fearing she might drown in those warm hazel depths.
Katarina seemingly hadn’t noticed her lapse. “Let’s be off. Everyone is anxiously awaiting your arrival,” she gushed, clasping hands with Judith. “Good thing you sent a rider from the dock. Mother would have fainted if you’d shown up without warning.”
Dag and Magnus remounted and the wagon lurched forward. The fortress looked forbidding, but at least she seemed to have a friend in Katarina.
Homecoming
Katarina leapt out of the wagon once it rolled to a halt in the courtyard. Judith regretted never being so full of life and mischief. She’d willingly followed Arnulf’s rigid rules about how women should comport themselves.
Magnus dismounted quickly then welcomed the tearful embrace of a woman who must be his mother. It was plain to see where Katarina had inherited her black locks, though Cathryn Kriger’s hair was streaked with gray.
Her eyes wandered to the older man standing beside Cathryn and her heart skipped a beat. This was how Magnus would look in thirty years. Tall, erect, well muscled, still imposing. She had hoped to take the opportunity to study Magnus’s family while they were busy with their reunion. Sweat trickled down her spine when she realized Bryk Kriger’s gaze was fixed on her.
She suspected this man knew who she was, and everything about her. He was the comte, and would have made it his business to follow the progress of his sons during the campaign against Arnulf.
Was her love for Magnus written on her face?
She came close to sagging with relief when he turned his attention to Magnus and Dag. Despite his intimidating demeanor, the tears welling in his eyes betrayed his deep love for his sons. She took it as a good omen.
Magnus had shared tales of his father’s life, but Bryk Kriger was larger than life. She would need to be wary. She wondered what had brought together a massive pagan invader and a diminutive Frank, a devout Catholic according to Magnus. How had they met?
“Judith.”
Lost in her reverie, she had failed to notice Magnus standing with his arms outstretched. She got to her feet and put her hands on his shoulders, glad of his strength. “Sorry,” she whispered as he lifted her down. “I was immersed in watching your family. They love you.”
He frowned. “I’m worried. Aleksandra and Brynhild have yet to appear.”
Magnus wished he hadn’t mentioned his daughters. Judith’s nervousness was apparent in her forced smile, and he’d made it worse. He gripped her hand, hoping to reassure her as he led her to his parents, though he wasn’t sure how they would receive their guest. It was certain his father was already aware Judith was a hostage, but he wouldn’t introduce her as such.
“Papa, may I present Judith of Flandres,” he said.
She sank into a full curtsey, head bowed. “My Lord Comte,” she said. “I am honored.”
Bryk Kriger bent to take her hand and drew her upright. “Welcome to Montdebryk, Judith of Valognes. You needn’t bow to me. You are the sister of a comte yourself.”
Judith’s wary eyes darted to Magnus as his father pecked a kiss on her knuckles.
A strange mixture of relief, annoyance and even jealousy spiraled through him. His father’s words were warm and welcoming, yet he’d gone to the trouble of finding out everything, including her ancestral name. And he’d kissed her hand! Bryk Kriger wasn’t a man known for his courtly manners.
The knot in his gut tightened further when he noticed his mother staring at him, tight-lipped and anxious. When Judith turned to her she gave a perfunctory nod of the head and said, “Welcome,” then spoke immediately to Magnus. “You must go at once to Aleksandra and Brynhild. They are in their chamber. Your guest will remain with us.”
He clenched his jaw, annoyed his mother had been uncharacteristically rude, and had then deemed it necessary to remind him of his duty. Being at odds with his mother was unfamiliar territory. He was grateful when Dag stepped forward to link Judith’s arm. “Go, brother, I’ll take care of her.”
The tension in Judith’s face eased as she smiled at Magnus. “I will be fine with Dag and your parents,” she said. “Your daughters need you.”
Viking Betrayed (Viking Roots Book 3) Page 12
