The Norse King’s Daughter (26 page)

But he hadn’t anticipated an underwater volcano erupting just outside Byzantium, causing them to have to reroute their journey, causing further delays.

Nor had he anticipated pirates.

Or a mutiny on one of the ships over rosebushes.

Or a fight among two of Drifa’s guardsmen over a missing harem girl garment.

Or Ianthe and Isobel’s need for constant stops to piss and bathe.

Or his heart-hammering fear of what he would do when he arrived at Stoneheim, because gods only knew what that would be. He didn’t.

Was there anything worse than a confused, impatient Viking?

Chapter Twenty-five

Absence just makes the heart grow asunder . . .

D
rifa had been up out of her day-long entrapment in the hold of the longship for two sennights now, but still she was hurt, and more than that, she was blood-churning angry. The troll! The toad! The slimy, dirt-crawling, lying, traitorous, loathsome snake.

Despite all that, she loved Sidroc.

And he’d sent her off like so much bothersome baggage.

Oh, she knew that he nursed a modicum of concern for her well-being, but he would no doubt feel the same for any woman. Like Ianthe. Or his dead wife. Or any passing fancy.

So he “cared” for her. She did not want his caring. She wanted his loving.

So much for that!

When would she learn? He’d nigh broken her heart five years ago. And he’d done it again now. And, gods help her, he would do it again when he came for Runa.

She would not think of that now.
Wind Maiden
was skimming down the fjord toward Stoneheim, and she could see a small crowd awaiting their unexpected return. The tall man with the flowing white hair would be her father, and the little mite jumping up and down was sweet Runa.

After many hugs and kisses, Drifa was walking up to the keep with her father on one side, filling him in on all that happened, with Runa on her other side, singing a little song she’d made up which was composed of one word, “Present, pre-sent, preeee-seeent,” and all its variations. Drifa had made the mistake of telling Runa that she brought presents for her.

Many sennights later Drifa sat with her father; Ivar, whom she was still angry with; and her sister Vana on benches in the great hall before a cold hearth, it being a warm autumn day. Runa was outside playing her marble game with some of the other children on the hard dirt of the back courtyard.

“I still say that the Arab bastard should not go unpunished. I should put together a
hird
of two hundred or so of my best warriors and go after that ad-Dawlah
nithing
,” her father said, not for the first time since she’d come home and told them of her captivity.

The possibility of her father going off to war at his age, and engaging the enemy in a remote territory, was foolish and unacceptable to Drifa. She shivered at the image of him atop a camel leading his troops.

“Nay, Father!” she and Vana said at the same time.

Even Ivar, who had served King Thorvald well for many years, shook his head. “ ’Tis too far away, and there are too many of them.”

Drifa reached over and put a hand on her father’s big one. “Bahir ad-Dawlah is a vile man, and he should face the raven, no question about that, but I am alive and was not physically harmed. What I hate most is that my trip to Byzantium was cut so short.”

“There will be other trips,” her father assured her, but Drifa knew it to be untrue. She would be nigh a prisoner here at Stoneheim from now on.

“Besides that, ad-Dawlah and his men are not the only guilty ones,” Ivar pointed out.

The king let loose a long string of expletives, then snarled out, “And you can be sure that I will let the emperor and all his Greek underlings know that I am unhappy with how his court failed to protect my daughter. The Byzantines rely on an ongoing supply of Norsemen for their Varangian Guard. If I let it be known that a princess of the Norselands was so abused, believe you me, he will have to look elsewhere for replacements.”

She started to say, “Now, Father—”

But he cut her off. “Another thing, daughter, do not think I am so feeble that I am ready for a straw death yet. Bahir the Bastard will die, and soon. It does not take an entire
hird
to accomplish that goal. And the blood eagle he will suffer, too.”

Which meant that he was sending soldiers to do the job for him, probably in the disguise of traders. She couldn’t argue with that.

But enough for now! Her father’s color was getting high. She and Vana exchanged glances, both agreeing it was time to change the subject.

“It has been two months, sister. Dost think Sidroc will still come?” Vana asked.

That wasn’t quite the change of subject she wanted, but Drifa nodded. “Unless something has happened to him, he will come for Runa.” She had already told Runa of her father, and the girling was anxious to meet him, although Drifa wasn’t sure she really understood what having a father would mean to her. Just another person to do her bidding, Drifa supposed. “Will he bring presents?” was Runa’s biggest concern.

“Does Sidroc not come for you, too?” Vana interrupted Drifa’s musing.

Vana had trouble believing any man would disdain Drifa’s favor. A biased sister’s view.

“He said naught of that when last I saw him.”

“How could he say aught when you were screaming at him?” Ivar offered.

“Where do your loyalties lay, Ivar?” she snapped.

“You wound me with your words,” Ivar said. “Have I ever been disloyal to you?”

She ducked her head. “Mayhap not.”

“Besides, you misread Sidroc. Methinks he cares for you.”

“Care, care, care!” She threw her hands in the air. “Who wants ‘care’?”

Everyone stared at her as if she’d gone barmy.

“Do you want the man, Drifa? I will get him for you, if he is your choice for husband.” Her father patted her arm with comfort.

“Don’t you dare! I will not have a man forced to marry me.”

“You would let your pride stand in the way of keeping your daughter?” Vana posed the question softly, but it stung nonetheless.

“You above all others know what it’s like to be wed without love,” Drifa pointed out. Vana’s first husband had been a cruel man. No love there, but a far cry from Sidroc, and their situation. Drifa immediately wished she hadn’t made the comparison.

“You could always go with Sidroc as his mistress to stay close to the child,” Ivar suggested.

“What?” she exclaimed with affront.

“What?” Ivar repeated back at her. “His bed furs were not objectionable to you in the past.”

A silence pervaded the group as Ivar’s words sank in.

Belatedly realizing what his loose tongue had revealed, Ivar groaned.

She cringed.

And her father did the least expected thing. He smiled. “That settles it. If the man has taken your maidenhead, he will wed you, or face the flavor of my wrath.”

“Father! I am twenty and nine years old, soon to be thirty. What matters if my maidenhead is lost from carnal use, or lost by withering away from lack of use.”

Vana giggled behind her hand.

“Be that as it may, I will have words with the rogue, you can be sure of that. What say you to Evergreen as a dower for you, dearling? ’Tis a small estate I own south of here. Still in the Norselands, but somewhat warmer in climate. Your flowers would grow better there.”

“And you could get some of that camel shit out of the stable,” Vana, the traitor, added. “It smells worse than horse manure.”

As if no one else had spoken, the king went on, “I have promised Stoneheim to Rafn and Vana, as you know, Drifa, and a steading cannot have two jarls without enmity.”

Who said anything about two jarls, or that there would be a wedding? My father’s head is thicker than a berserker’s shield, despite his having been drilled.

And still her father went on, “That way, you and Sidroc would have your own home at Evergreen.”

Drifa put her face in her hands.

“You could give Sidroc more children, preferably sons. You are not breeding now, are you? Do not scowl at me so. I am just asking. In any case, you could pop out babies, and Sidroc could go on being a warrior, or a farmer, or a trader, or whatever he decides for his future. But a husband he will be. What think you, Ivar? Last time you were at Evergreen, what was its condition?”

As her father rambled on, she grew more and more furious. Why wouldn’t he listen to her? “Aaarrgh!” was the best she could get out.

Just then, Rafn walked in. “I have news,” he said.

A maid handed him a cup of mead, and he sat down beside his wife. “A ship heads this way. ’Tis Jarl Gunter Ormsson from Vikstead.”

“Drop the drawbridge,” her father whooped joyfully.

Never mind that they had no drawbridge. Or moat, either.

“ ’Twould seem I am going to get my battle, after all.” To a passing
housecarl
, he yelled, “Where’s my favorite sword? Nay, bring me Skull Crusher, instead. And my helmet and shield. Call up the troops.”

Drifa would have been concerned, except that it was more important that she go hide Runa. And any evidence of her trip to Vikstead five years before, like Eydis, the former Vikstead wet nurse, now chambermaid at Stoneheim.

Why couldn’t her life be nice and calm and boring, like other princesses?

He made Simon Legree look like Santa Claus . . .

It was a lost cause, hiding Runa, because Gunter Ormsson knew full well that his granddaughter was alive and living at Stoneheim. Apparently some passing traveler had noticed Eydis one time when visiting Stoneheim and mentioned her being here. The jarl figured out the rest.

If only Sidroc were here to protect his daughter, and Drifa and her sisters, from this evil man, who was demanding not just Runa, but restitution for the stealing of his grandchild.

Gunter and two of Sidroc’s older brothers, Svein and Bjorn, had been here since yesterday morning, and a sorrier lot there never had been. Maids complained about gropings and outright demands for bedmates. Various Stoneheim soldiers had been insulted and were threatening violence.

They needed to get the vile miscreants out of Stoneheim. Without Runa.

“Your daughters committed a crime, and should be forced to pay
wergild
for their crimes, just like anyone else,” Gunter said, sitting across from them, with his sons, at a table in the great hall.

Her father, Rafn, Vana, and Ivar bracketed her on the other side. Runa had been brought forth to meet her grandfather earlier today, but like a dog that sensed a bad person, the little girl screamed and cried to get down from his lap. Ormsson had muttered something about “Females need to be put their place. All the child needs is a good switching to teach her what is what.”

Drifa shuddered to think of what Runa’s life would be like in this man’s household. “Our crimes are no worse than yours. In fact, some might say we prevented your far greater crime.”

“What crime?” Ormsson and his sons sputtered.

“You were going to kill the baby,” she said.

“Says who?”

“Your son Sidroc.”

Ormsson made a dramatic show of glancing all around the hall. “I do not see Sidroc here. In fact, he has not been seen for some time. Some say he died, mayhap even at the hands of your healer, King Thorvald.”

“You go too far, Ormsson,” her father said, his voice steely with outrage.

“Besides, the law says a man has a right to do what he wills with his own family,” Ormsson continued. “Let us call out a Thing-bidding over the land. Let the Thing court decide what is just.”

“What is legal and what is right are two different things,” Drifa argued.

“You exceed yourself, bi— girl.”

“No more than I should. And, for your information, I have seen Sidroc.”
And he is more than alive.

“Me too,” Ivar said.

“In fact, he is on his way here now, from Byzantium where he has been a Varangian,” Drifa added.

“So you say.” Ormsson emptied his horn of ale, belched, and motioned to a maid for a refill.

Drifa and Vana exchanged glances of disgust.

“What exactly do you want?” her father asked.

“The child, of course.”

“The child stays here, awaiting her father’s return.”

“Which might never happen,” Ormsson remarked. “And I want a hundred gold coins for
wergild
. Return of the wet nurse Eydis. And thirty lashes to the backs of each of the princesses.”

That last was so ludicrous that Drifa let out a burst of laughter.

Ormsson gave her a look that said if he got her alone she would not be laughing.

“You touch one of my daughters and you will leave Stoneheim in pieces,” her father threatened.

“There is an alternative,” Bjorn said, eyeing Drifa in a rather crafty manner. “I would take your youngest daughter to wife.”

Drifa and everyone on her side of the table gasped.

The king held up his hand to stop Drifa from speaking.

“I thought you were already wed.”

“So?” Bjorn said. “The
more danico
is an accepted practice in the Norselands, as you well know.”

“I was ne’er married to more than one woman at a time,” her father said. “Nor will any of my daughters be second wives to any other. Besides, my daughters choose their own husbands.”