Wild Viking Princess (7 page)

But what were the chances of Dieter finding her where Reider’s enemies had not tracked him? What did Reider intend to do with her when he left? She had no doubt they planned to leave, and soon. Would she be abandoned here, alone, with no means of escape? Or would she be taken with them on their quest for justice? Given a choice she would prefer the latter, though it would take her further away from rescue. The possibility of Reider’s leaving and never seeing him again filled her with dread. She saw only glimpses of him during the day, but never stopped thinking about him.

Her preoccupation and the lack of activity annoyed her. Ragna thrived on action. She sometimes wished she had been made a thrall; at least they had things to do. To alleviate her boredom, she often walked to the water’s edge, looking out to sea, wondering if Dieter searched or if hope had been abandoned.

One morning she and Thor walked further along the beach than usual, away from the cove. She inhaled the salty smell of the sea, watching the waves rush to shore. She heard the crunch of boots on pebbles and knew it was Reider by the icy heat on the nape of her neck. He stood behind her. She longed to lean back against him and feel his powerful arms wrap around her.

I could stay in this lonely place forever, if he was with me.

The astonishing thought set her teeth on edge. Shivering, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

Thor wagged his tail vigorously and jumped up on Reider. Even her dog loved him. Reider rubbed Thor’s ears, then took off his parka and put it around her shoulders. “Are you cold?”

She gathered the garment tightly under her chin, inhaling the scent she recognized as uniquely his. Did he know her scent? Did he feel anything for her? “No, I am not cold.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. He had pulled his hair into a tight braid, ready to face his enemies. To her dismay, tears rolled down her cheeks. She had not cried since the devastating news of her parents’ deaths, and never for a man. She had been determined not to show her vulnerability to this man in particular, yet the tears flowed. She closed her eyes. He drew her to him and his warmth seeped into her. She lay her head against his chest, feeling, for the first time in her life, the hard swell of a man’s arousal pressed to her body. Her mother had been right. It did strange things to a woman’s insides.

He took a deep breath and stroked his hand over her hair. “It is time. We are leaving.”

His rich voice rippled over her. What did he mean? Would he take her with him? She glanced up sharply to look into his guarded eyes, and knew he would not. Frowning, she gritted her teeth and pulled away from him. “You are not taking me with you?”

He held her fast. “I do not want to leave you here, but where I go is full of danger. We sail first to the neighbouring principality. They were my father’s allies. We have already sent messengers. We hope they will help us, but things change. You will have Thor with you, and I will leave two of my crew here, and the thralls.”

A hot burst of anger welled up inside her. She rubbed the back of her neck, then put both hands on his chest and shoved him away. “They are not thralls. They are free men you have forced into servitude. They hate me because I am still free.” She strode away, resentful that she was not free either. He had somehow enslaved her in a fascination with him.

He caught up to her and grasped her elbow, pulling her back. “I know you are angry, but I must regain my kingdom and avenge my father’s death. If not for my own sake, then for my people. Gorm and his consort will not be good rulers.”

The way he spat the word
consort
gave her pause. “His consort?”

Reider’s spine stiffened and he fisted his hands at his side. “I have no wish to speak of her.”

Hatred contorted his fair face. A certainty settled in her heart. “She is the reason you do not trust women.”

He turned away, picking up a pebble and hurling it into the waves. Thor plunged into the water in pursuit. Reider murmured something she did not hear. She moved closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

He turned abruptly, his face a mask of pain. “Margit was my betrothed.”

He picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them one after the other in rapid succession.

This man she had come to care for had suffered the worst kind of betrayal. She should tread carefully, but out came, “Did you love her?”

Why don’t you think before opening your mouth?

He whirled around and her breath caught in her throat. “Love? There is no place in my heart for love, Ragna.”

~~~

Ragna’s knees trembled. It was
like a kick in the belly. But she would not allow him to best her. She took his parka from her shoulders and thrust it at him. “Will you return here for us after you win back your precious kingdom, or will you forget Ragna FitzRam and leave us to die?”

He accepted the parka, but threw it down. He put his hands on her waist, drew her to his body and brushed his lips against hers. Wanton sensations arrowed to her core and she put her arms around his neck. He pressed his warm, coaxing tongue to the seam of her lips. She allowed him entry with a groan of longing. He swirled his tongue over her teeth and delved deep. She sucked on him rhythmically, feeling his hard arousal again pressed to the place between her legs where warmth flooded. Wave after wave of intense desire broke on the shore of her heart. She thrust her breasts forward, burning for his touch.

Suddenly he tore their bodies apart, his breathing ragged, a look of intense longing on his face. She swayed, drowning in cold frustration.

He stooped to pick up the parka. “I could never forget you,
prinsessen
Ragna FitzRam.”

He untied his leather headband, then slipped hers from her head and replaced it with his own. It still held the warmth of his body. He clenched her headband in his fist, put it to his nose and inhaled deeply, then strode away.

Buffeted by the wind, she watched his broad back until he was out of sight. A tidal wave of grief threatened to swamp her. She had never surrendered any part of her heart to a man, now he was leaving. He might never return.

She did not know how long she had remained on the shore, watching the waves without seeing them. When the two longboats came around the headland, Reider stood with Kjartan in the stern, his hand raised in salute.

Thor barked frantically. She held on to her resolve not to wave back, but when the boats were specks on the horizon, she raised her hand. “Please come back,” she whispered to the wind. She had not even wished him Godspeed.

~~~

Reider watched until Ragna and her beloved dog were barely visible. Would he ever again run his hands through the beautiful tresses that billowed in the wind like a golden banner? He did not expect her to return his salute. She was too stubborn. He had never met such a wilful woman, but her wild nature excited him. She would be a challenging mate for some man. The thought of another bedding her filled him with anger, but he had nothing to offer her, certainly not his heart. Margit had destroyed it. He suspected Ragna would expect nothing less of her mate than his whole heart. She was not a woman of half measures, probably because of her Danish blood!

Despite his determination to avoid her, he had been inexplicably unable to stay away from his alcove at night. He had made sure she did not know he slept beside her, stealing into the small space late into the night and leaving before she awoke. It had been torture not to reach out and touch her as she slumbered.

He touched his fingers to his bottom lip, remembering the taste and smell of her—spicy like her nature. He had not intended to kiss her. He had kissed women before, but nothing had prepared him for Ragna’s kiss. Her groan of longing had inflamed him even beyond the rock-hard erection that arose whenever he was near her. It was the kiss of a passionate woman, but an innocent one. He suspected she had never kissed a man. Her warmth as she sucked his tongue and thrust her breasts had sent desire crashing through him. It had taken considerable control not to take her on the shore.

He removed her leather headband from his tunic, inhaled her lingering scent and fastened it around his head.

His heart leapt into his throat when she suddenly raised her hand in salute.

“I will come back for you, Ragna, my
prinsessen
.”

~~~

Once the boats had disappeared beyond the horizon, Ragna knelt to hug Thor, then wandered slowly back to whatever awaited her at the lodge. The dog whimpered as he kept pace with his mistress. She patted his haunches. “You too feel his absence already, don’t you, my loyal friend?”

She took her time, stooping occasionally to throw a pebble or two into the waves. Thor gave up chasing them, discouraged when there was nothing to retrieve.

When she pushed open the heavy door of the lodge, her eyes widened. The thralls were dressed in their own clothing. One of the Danes explained Reider had freed them at her request.

Needing to be alone to come to terms with this new revelation and her feelings of loss, she hastened to the alcove. Atop Reider’s pallet lay her mother’s dagger, still in its sheath. She grabbed the precious weapon and held it to her breast. Unable to stem the tide of tears any longer, she fell on to the bed and sobbed until exhaustion took hold. Thor curled up beside her, whimpering.

After days of planning and consulting with locals, Dieter and Magnus came to the conclusion it would be impossible to search the marshy coastline on horseback. They would have to obtain a boat, and a crew, since neither they nor their men were mariners. Local seamen would be familiar with tides and the lay of the land.

In their quest for a boat, they heard reports of a brutal massacre on the island principality of Strand. Speculation was rampant that the heir apparent might have escaped. Dieter paid little attention, preoccupied with fears for Ragna.

Magnus secured a boat and crew, mostly Saxons with some Danes. Their captain demanded what Dieter considered a high price, but Magnus pointed out they may have to go as far as Strand, and that might prove dangerous in the present situation.

The Danish captain, Ivar Sigurdsen, took charge of obtaining and loading provisions aboard the
knarr.
Dieter and his men embarked from the dock in Hamburg, having stabled their horses at a reputable farm. Dieter was apprehensive. He was not a sailor, and had never been on a boat, except to travel from time to time along the Rhine. They sailed down the Elbe. He found his sea legs and thought it might not be too bad. Once they reached the open sea, uncontrollable retching left him exhausted. Many of his men suffered the same affliction, much to the amusement of the seasoned crew.

They took their time, carefully exploring the shoreline. Dieter appreciated the captain’s knowledge of the area and admitted that he and Magnus could not have undertaken this search alone. He did not hold out much hope of finding Ragna.

As they scoured the miles of coastline, he tried to keep his attention off the movement of the waves. His disordered thoughts drifted to the tale of the flight of the heir of Strand, then to his recollection of the story of the heroic rescue undertaken by the Danish longboat. Were the two events connected somehow? Could the Viking who had come to the rescue of the Norman cog be the Prince of Strand?

If Ragna lived, was she caught up in a dangerous struggle for power? It was reassuring that the crew Magnus had hired was aware there might be conflict ahead and would enter the fray if necessary. If Ragna had been enslaved, they would likely have a fight on their hands to free her.

Dieter did not fear conflict. Hailed as a hero of the battle of Andernach, he had played a significant role in the victory of
Köln
against the Holy Roman Emperor. But he was glad to have a strong militia with him.

Sigurdsen ensured that they pulled into a village or settlement each evening, and it became apparent he was known and welcomed along the coast. The talk around the campfires turned to the massacre. There was general agreement the Prince of Strand would join forces with a neighbouring principality in an attack to regain his birthright. There seemed to be no further doubt that the prince had survived the massacre.

Dieter asked Sigurdsen’s opinion. “If this prince did escape, where would he have gone?”

“Husembro.”

The man had not hesitated. “You seem sure of that.”

Ivar shrugged. “It is the logical place. An inlet with hidden coves, but not far from Strand.”

Dieter gazed out at the black waters, whitecaps still visible in the moonlight. “How long to get there, if we go directly, without searching the shore on the way?”