Love's Fury (Viking's Fury #1) (9 page)

“Death sits on every man’s shoulder on this island—Saxon and Dane alike. How long do you think it will be before more ships arrive and strip your precious churches of their wealth and rape your women? How long do you think you’d survive?”

Instead of pressing her for an answer, he mounted his steed, leaving her to consider his words. They turned north beyond the courtyard, rounding the crowd of people visiting the armory and food stands. Konal sniffed the air and frowned. Only in Saxon cities did he find the appealing smell of fresh bread mingled with the stench of shite.

Thatched-roofed cottages lined the narrow road and children played wherever they could. Konal navigated carefully to keep the horses from trampling anyone. After a few blocks, he turned in the saddle to check on Silvia. She sat as straight and proud as a captive princess.

Satisfied, he faced forward again and crossed under a stone archway. As if they entered another world, the grunts, curses, and sounds of battle greeted him. The open space was used for training. He slid off his horse, searching the enclosed yard for Ivarr. The two-story stone house in the background served as officer’s barracks.

“Come to gloat?” A dark-haired Dane strutted over, sword in hand.

Konal smirked, grasping his arm in friendship. “To collect you and the other men the prince promised me.”

“And perhaps to unload your precious cargo?” His gaze traveled slowly over Silvia.

“Pick another field to plow. The girl stays with me for now,” Konal said. He glanced at her, then stroked her leg, hoping for a smile. “Meet Jahn.”

“Sir—”

“Forgive her curtness.” Konal cut her off. “I’ve given her every reason to be unhappy.”

“Aye,” Jahn acknowledged with a wide grin. “The bastard has a habit of disappointing women.”

“Don’t be so critical,” Konal said, “or the girl will never accept me.” Konal tapped Silvia’s leg. “Time to come down.” He reached for her. “The prince wishes to make his goodbyes—he’ll want to see you, too.”

“Like this?” She held up her hands, still ashamed.

“No one will be looking at your hands,” Jahn assured her.

Konal disliked what he was implying, but he couldn’t fault a man for admiring his little captive. Silvia slid into his arms and shivered.

“I’ll stay with you,” he said as he set her on her feet.

They entered the great hall in silence. Ivarr’s standards covered the walls, leaving no trace of the Saxon earl who once lived there. Half a dozen trestle tables arranged in the center of the room were filled with men. All conversation stopped when Konal approached the dais where the prince sat.

“Tis good to see you again my friend,” Ivarr greeted. “I’m pleased to know you survived another night with the vixen.”

The ensuing laughter from the crowd did little to help Silvia relax. Konal gave her a testy look, then bent his head in recognition of the prince. “We’ve reached an agreement, milord.”

Ivarr eyed her hands. “One that involves a bit of rope.”

“I prefer her sharp tongue over a blade.”

“Small mercies.” The prince’s gaze was keenly focused on Silvia. “Are you distressed over leaving your home?”

She tried to hide her shaky hands under her cloak. Konal draped his arm across her shoulders. “Don’t be afraid to speak,” he whispered. “Ivarr does you a great honor by addressing you directly.” He nodded toward the prince.

“It grieves me deeply,” she answered.

Ivarr stood. “You have my sympathies. This great city has suffered immensely. But if your brethren will once again trust me, I promise to rebuild it.”

Konal didn’t know what to think. Rarely did his former commander recognize a Saxon as anything more than dust beneath his feet.

“I’ve learned of your father’s death.” Ivarr stepped off the dais, limping and carrying a wood box. “Scholars are valuable, even to a heathen like me. As you know, my interests extend beyond trading and the agricultural value of these lands. Had I known your sire was inside the scriptorium, I would have protected him.”

She shifted on her feet, staring at the floor. “Your consideration is appreciated, milord.” She raised her head.

Konal could feel the tension creeping up her spine.

“I know reparations cannot restore your happiness.” The prince stood in front of them now. “But in my country, when someone is killed—accidently or otherwise—it is customary to offer
wergild
to the surviving family members. In this case, I wish to give you this.” He opened the box.

Embroidered gowns and jewels. Konal licked his lips. “Thank you.” He spoke on her behalf.

“Let her speak freely,” Ivarr commanded.

Although her hands were bound, Silvia ran her fingers over the light-colored fabrics. Then, she picked up a silver collar embellished with sapphires.

“A necklace fit for a jarl’s wife,” the prince said.

“Milord,” she said. “These gifts are too rich for the daughter of a scribe. What shall I do with them?”

Ivarr smiled. “Whatever you see fit.”

She curtsied.

“As for your escort.” Ivarr turned his attention to Konal. “I’m willing to promote you and offer more gold if you’ll stay another year. Few men accomplish what you have in such a short time. Half my warriors love you, the others want to stick a knife in your back.”

Konal laughed. He’d already demonstrated what he’d do to any man who challenged him. “Your praise is gift enough, milord.”

“Ah,” Ivarr said. “I know there’s nothing I can do to keep you here. Your father’s ship arrived a week ago. His men will meet you soon. Go with the gods, Jarl Konal.” He thrust the box in Konal’s hands.

Konal hesitated for a moment. He’d made a name for himself here, established friendships, fought in one of the bloodiest sieges and survived. With gold and silver and other assets at his disposal, he’d return to Norway a respected man. But as the second in line for his father’s seat of power, what really awaited him across the sea? For he could never accept his eldest brother’s rule after tasting what it felt like to be a jarl. If he stayed, there were no limits. But his heart ached for the icy blue fjords and mountains, the forest and snow, and family.

Ready to go, he grasped Ivarr’s arm with his free hand. “
En medvind på ryggen vår er best
.” A fair wind at your back is best.

“I
s it so
bad keeping company with me?” Konal stared down at Silvia from his horse with an unreadable expression. “The evening sky is clear. And the winds are light. We’ll sleep comfortably tonight without a fire.”

Only if she could get him to free her hands and stay as far away as possible. After half a night and a full day of riding, her arse ached. Twenty miles into their journey, she no longer recognized the countryside. Having only traveled a few miles beyond York, her whole life revolved around the familiar sights and sounds within the city walls. And the cottage. The further away she got, the heavier her heart grew. She prayed silently, remembering her father and the men who died trying to reclaim the city. She begged for guidance, patience, understanding, and even a bit of forgiveness for the man who continued to protect her from the savages that surrounded them.

The five soldiers escorting them were little better than ravenous dogs. Dressed in full armor, thick beards braided and adorned with silver and gold beads, they reminded her of everything she feared. Heathens with little else to do but search for something to kill. Three of them went hunting the minute Konal picked a place to camp for the night. The other two wandered off to piss—an announcement she wished she’d never heard.

As she surveyed the area, she admired the creek that cut through the flatlands, disappearing into the forest. Fields of wheat and barley dominated the eastern landscape. Bleating sheep could be heard from a nearby farm.

Dismounting, Konal untied her hands. “We’re far enough away from Jorvik to trust you again.”

She rubbed her sore wrists, unhappy with the marks left by the rope. “You think me incapable of finding my way home?”

“No,” he said. “I think you’re too shrewd to make the mistake of walking alone. And…” He seized her right wrist. “There’s nothing left for you there.”

He couldn’t be more wrong. Perhaps he didn’t understand how closely connected she was to the monks. It might seem improper to some—immoral even—but men of the cloth loved children, too. And no matter how old she grew, those precious servants of God still regarded her as the same little girl running wild inside the sanctuary.

She glared at him, very aware of his touch.

Whenever she looked at Konal, it forced her to remember. “Please don’t touch me. I’m a slave now. Assign me a task so I feel useful.”

He untied his saddle packs, then threw them on the ground at her feet. “Shake out the furs and make our beds. We’ll reach the coast by tomorrow afternoon.”

“The coast?” she repeated anxiously.

“Aye,” he said. “The North Sea.”

“I-I thought we were going to your steading.”

His mouth twitched. “We’re headed in that general direction,” he confirmed. “Once we reach the crossroads, I’ll send the guards ahead to warn my tenants of our arrival.” He studied her critically. “
We’re
going to Filey.”

Although she feared the soldiers, their presence made it difficult for Konal to get her alone. “Why Filey?”

“To see the ocean.”

She cared nothing about the coast.

“You’ve never set eyes on the water, have you?”

“There’s been no cause, milord. I’ve seen my share of rivers and lakes, what need of an ocean?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “You know little of the world.”

She disagreed. “I know more about the world than most,” she challenged. “After the things I’ve read, the secrets divulged in manuscripts collected from as far as Constantinople, believe me when I say men’s hearts are as cold and bent on violence a thousand miles away as they are here.”

“A fair argument,” he admitted. “But the intentions of men have nothing to do with the wondrous sights beyond this island.”

She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave their home for foreign shores. “My responsibilities kept me close to the church, near my father and the monks. Don’t you have a family? A wife and children?”

“The truth is revealed,” he said. “Waiting for the right time to ask questions so it doesn’t appear you’re truly interested in me.” He smiled. “I have many brothers and a sister. My father anxiously awaits my return. But a wife…” He shook his head. “I’ve avoided marriage for a long time.”

“Norsemen breed like rabbits to keep their armies stocked with bloodthirsty boys.”

A light breeze lifted his dark hair. “Children are a man’s future,” he said with absolute certainty. “And in time, I’ll sire as many as Odin is willing to give me.” He fingered his beard. “As for breeding like rabbits, shall we test your theory?”

Silvia fisted her hands at her sides. “You twisted the meaning of my words again.”

“Have I now?”

“You’d find any excuse to act churlish.”

“According to you,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t need one. It’s in my tainted blood.”

Boiling blood
, she thought. Something strange happened between her legs then—a tiny spasm and a surge of wet heat. Embarrassed by whatever she was experiencing, she looked away, only to find herself staring at his full lips a minute later. That mouth had plundered hers, tasted her, and left her mindless.
Stupid girl.
She smoothed her skirt, as nervous as she’d ever been with him.

“How many times have you looked at a man the way you just stared at me?”

“What?”

“Tell me now what you were thinking when you gazed at my mouth.”

“You’re imagining things, milord.”

“Stop denying what you naturally feel, Silvia.”

Lord help her. “This is a pointless conversation.”

“Is it?”

She tried to grab the bags, but he took her hand, forcing her upright.

“Indulge your master,” he said sweetly. “Let’s play a game, Silvia.”

“I’m not overly fond of such things,” she lied. The monks taught her how to play chess before she could speak. And she knew how much Norsemen enjoyed sporting of any kind. Whether
hnefatafl,
a game similar to chess, or drinking in excess.

“Tis a game of wit,” he offered. “Or truth, if that’s what you choose to call it.”

Admittedly, he’d piqued her interest. “What are the rules?”

“I’ll ask you a question, and if I think your answer is misleading, I win a kiss.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This supposed game seems slanted in your favor.”

“On the contrary,” he assured her. “You, too, receive the same opportunity.”

That made her laugh. “If I think you’re withholding the truth I get to kiss you? Hardly a coveted prize for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve kissed me before, milord. I didn’t like it.”

Without warning, his lips brushed across hers. She gasped and stepped back. His mouth wreaked havoc on her insides. What chance did she really have against this man? Her gaze slipped down his body, focusing on the calloused hands resting at his sides. It was almost impossible not to think of how it felt to be pawed by them. Every inch of him as virile as a rutting stag.

“Consider this the start of our match,” he said. “Tell me exactly what you are thinking.”

Confessing would only feed his ego. But he had proven too perceptive already, he’d know if she withheld anything. “Your hands,” her voice wavered. “I’ve never seen a larger pair.”

He grinned. “You’re not the first woman to accuse me of being large.”

She covered her mouth in disgust, fully aware of what he meant. “Men who boast about such things are often said to be liars, milord.”

“There’s no need for me to lie.”

Why should she doubt him? Every other part of his body was oversized. With the exception of his brain. She chuckled.

“What?” he demanded.

“A private thought.”

“There can be no secrets between us,” he said, holding her gaze. “As a member of my household, I’m entitled to know even the most insignificant thought.”