Viking's Love (3 page)

Joran wanted to shout in fury at Wulfstan’s
slight of tongue. The girl knowing her father was dead did not bode
well, judging from her grim, resigned expression as she narrowed
her gaze upon him.

The sword she held was a smaller version of a
broadsword, and just as deadly. She knew how to use it and would
not come quietly. The situation was now out of his control and
escalating rapidly by her militant expression.

“
Allisande of Lockwraithe, you will
drop your weapon and have done with this.” Joran pursued her
grimly, his eyes never leaving hers.

“
You will have to kill me too, Viking!”
She walked backward, her sword outstretched. “Come, Berserker, let
us see if you can best a lady.”

“
Drop the sword! No more need die this
day!” Joran crept nearer, sword poised. “I have no desire to kill a
woman!”

“
You killed my father, and for that I
will kill you, Joran Ivarsson!” Allisande’s fierce look compelled
him to question how well the girl could fight. As tiny as she was,
she couldn’t possibly defeat him. She had to know that. He ground
his teeth as he walked closer.

“
Look around you.” Joran crept closer,
his eyes never leaving her pale features. “You may kill me, but
what of the men at my back? You cannot win here, girl! Think of
your people, if nothing else! What do you think will happen to them
if you succeed in this?”

Allisande gazed behind him to see the
anguished looks of the women huddled against the stone wall and
froze. She surprised him as she lowered the sword and tossed it at
his feet.

Joran kicked the sword away from her. Grogan
rushed to pick it up, marveling at the little sword before tucking
it into his waistband. He glared down at the girl, seeing how she
refused to cower. He shouted for Sarne. The younger Viking rushed
forward.

“
Tie her up and put her on my ship,”
Joran ordered harshly, his eyes cold. “Stay with her until I
arrive, and be on your guard,” he added, thinking of Wulfstan. “No
one boards my ship until I arrive.”

Sarne nodded and approached the girl a bit
warily. She made a false lunge at him. He let out a sudden gasp and
held up his hands as if to ward off her attack. Violet eyes filled
with amusement. She held out her wrists and glared at Joran, her
tone one of ridicule. “Are you sure him capable of this task,
Viking?”

Sarne looked outraged at her insolent words
questioning his strength. Joran grinned in amusement at her daring.
“Go easy on him, Girl. Sarne has a soft spot for females. You may
have just ruined his outlook on the fairer sex with your actions
this day.”

Allisande eyed the young Viking with contempt
glittering in her gaze as she was rudely tied and dragged away, her
eyes meeting his leaders with a promise of retaliation in their
icy, violet depths. “You may wish to hurry it along, Viking. I have
no soft spot for men.”

Joran brooded over the baron’s daughter. He
debated the wisdom in taking the girl with him, wondering what Ivar
would do with her. Allisande of Lockwraithe was a rare beauty. He
would lie if he said he didn’t desire her the moment he set eyes
upon her.

Recalling her fiery temper made him smile
despite himself. He wasn’t looking forward to having such venom
directed at him. Just the thought of her tied up aboard his ship
made him eager to join her, infuriating him to have been instantly
smitten with the shrewish daughter of his enemy.

He told himself he did it to offer
consolation to Ivar for having killed the baron. The true reason
enraged him enough to curse softly, knowing his motives were purely
selfish. The dainty dark-haired woman intrigued him, a feat not
many achieved in the years since his wife died.

Joran couldn’t read the Latin words engraved
upon the hilt of her small sword. He wondered at their meaning. He
was handed the sword after she was dragged away, admiring its
light-weighted feel in his hands. He knew it to be of value. The
gold hilt was encrusted with many jewels. As pretty as it was, it
would have killed more had he not stopped her.

His men were arguing amongst themselves over
keeping her alive. He declared she was his. Were they to argue it
as a majority; the girl would die this day. They hadn’t seen her as
a threat until too late. She had proven herself far too gifted with
the little sword to be underestimated.

Joran vowed to keep the woman. None argued
his claim except Wulfstan. His half brother was neither respected
nor liked by the war party he accompanied. None would argue Joran’s
rights.

Joran thought of the English beauty with her
long, lustrous black hair and enchanting violet eyes. He sighed
appreciatively despite himself. Harold’s daughter was lovely to
look upon if one didn’t pay any mind to her wretched tongue. He
stepped over the dead men to return to the keep.

Ivar told him nothing of what to do with the
baron’s family when he instructed him to destroy Lockwraithe. He
felt it prudent to take her with them rather than leave her behind.
Harold Osgood’s estate was decimated. The people who served it were
either slain or enslaved by the victors.

His men were rounding up the women in the
village. They were looting the hall when he arrived. The echoing
screams of the serving wenches being ravished above stairs drowned
out the guffaws of his men as they helped themselves to the baron’s
larder.

They made free with the casks of ale and mead
from Osgood’s cellars. Drink was flowing aplenty. They noted his
approach with loud jests and ribald comments.

“
Joran, come join us and partake of the
baron’s fine stash of drink before we leave this place for home!”
Grogan clutched a wineskin to his massive chest before he tossed it
to him, and chuckled as one of their companions chased a shrieking
serving wench past them. “And be quick about swivving his pretty
daughter while you are at it. Wulfstan boasts he will challenge you
for his right to the girl.”

“
There will be no challenge!” Joran
drank from the wineskin, and tossed it back to Grogan with an
inscrutable expression. “The girl is mine. Ivar will decide her
fate when we get back. Wulfstan will have to content himself with
the riches from the raid.”

“
What of Osgood, Joran?”

“
The cowardly worm tried to stab me in
the back before he ran,” Joran complained sourly and shook his
head. “He left them! His own family and people were abandoned by
him.”

“
Ivar will be angry, but you had no
choice in it.”

“
I want no man here to further question
my rights to Lockwraithe’s daughter!” Joran called out sharply to
his men, succeeding in gaining all their attention. The room grew
silent as the men listened to their leader. “She goes with me! I
want no more blood spilled in vengeance. Lockwraithe is dead in yon
field! Ivar’s will is done this day!”

The group of Vikings cheered. The merriment
continued at his words. Joran relaxed visibly to see the men
mellowed in their revelry. He didn’t want his right to their
captive questioned by any of his men. It wasn’t everyday Joran took
a captive on their raids. He took only the wealth they found,
disdaining to carry off the females.

Harold Osgood’s daughter was a rare prize.
Her ransom alone would make Joran a rich man. Each warrior whistled
appreciatively as Sarne escorted the baron’s daughter away. It
wasn’t for them to decide the girl’s fate, but Ivar the Boneless,
who waited in Norway for their return.

Allisande of Lockwraithe didn’t struggle
during her transport to the ship. They heard the colorful use of
their language from her sharp tongue. Joran was surprised the girl
knew their Norse language, wondering who taught her. He smiled
mirthlessly as he recalled her blistering rant on what she would
like to do with their nether parts before feeding them to the swine
in her village.

Joran sat brooding at the baron’s table. His
men soon joined him, grinning and happy with the wealth they
attained. Many of them were counting these last three raids as
their final ones before returning to their farms. Joran knew the
next two noblemen would learn of the raid and expect the same for
them in the future.

Wulfstan arrived below, dragging a redheaded
girl behind him. He flung the girl roughly ahead of him into the
hall. He was still adorned with the riches stolen from the lady of
the keep’s room. Golden bracelets and necklaces and other finery
draped his neck.

The redheaded girl was bruised and bloodied
from his attack upon her. Her gown was in tatters. She stared
unseeingly ahead of her. Joran stared stonily at the bruises
already covering her face.

He usually didn’t interfere in what his men
did with the women they procured in raids. Something in him was
disturbed by the girl’s look of horror. He was motivated to act on
it.

Wulfstan shoved her away from him and
demanded she bring him something to eat. The girl stared at him
vacantly. She made no move to do his bidding, unhearing as well in
her obvious shock. Wulfstan raised his hand to strike the maid
again. Joran cursed under his breath, and rose and grabbed
Wulfstan’s hand in his iron grip before it fell upon her.

“
That is enough, Wulfstan! The maid is
in no condition to do anything. Hitting her will avail you nothing!
She would have fetched a fair price at the auction had you not
beaten her so badly! Do you not think at all?” Joran asked in
contempt.

Wulfstan’s pale grey eyes narrowed in anger.
He jerked his hand free. He sent his leader a look of disgust. He
turned and shoved the girl towards the kitchens with a look that
broke through her trance. She scurried away to hide.

“
You dare to tell me how to treat my
captive, Joran? Isn’t it enough you stole Lockwraithe’s daughter
from me and denied me my vengeance? It was none of your affair! The
girl should be mine!”

“
It’s my right to claim her, Wulfstan.
We don’t know Ivar’s plan yet.” Joran sat back down and drank from
the wineskin. Wulfstan grudgingly sat at the table as well, and
yanked the skin from Grogan and drank. “Lockwraithe’s daughter can
be ransomed back to her brother when he comes home from his king’s
court. Osgood’s death makes his son a wealthy man. Killing the girl
would have been foolish. She is worth more alive than dead.”
Joran’s eyes flicked over the man in ill-concealed
contempt.

“
What of Danik?” Wulfstan was livid. He
slammed his fist upon the wood trestle table. “My brother and
cousin lie dead at the wench’s hand! You speak of a ransom? I shall
seek out Ivar upon my return and demand justice for this insult!
She should be given to me!”

“
Ivar will side with me in this,
Wulfstan. The lady goes with us to the north. He alone will decide
her fate, not you.” Joran’s blue eyes were deadly as they met his,
daring him to continue to provoke him further. “Console yourself
with the riches of Lockwraithe.” His hand fell to his sword hilt
with obvious warning. “Continue with your sniping and you meet me
in yon field to discuss it further.”

Wulfstan drank from the wineskin. The only
sign of his hatred was a tic that formed in his rugged cheek. Those
that sat within earshot could see Joran was in no mood to argue the
matter. Wulfstan’s pale eyes glittered. He was wise enough to know
he was outnumbered with the deaths of his brother and cousin.

The baron’s riches were carried out of the
keep. The serfs were tied together as they were led to the long
ships docked along the shoreline. The keep was at last lit on fire
when they made their way out of the hall.

The black smoke billowed overhead as they
made their way back to their ships. They dragged their conquests
behind them. Lockwraithe’s riches were divided and loaded upon the
long ships at the shoreline.

Joran went to check on his captive. She was
asleep, tied up on the planked floor of his enclosure. He sighed
wearily as he reflected upon the men the girl killed.

Danik and Hagar were not well-liked among
their group. None truly mourned their passing except Wulfstan. The
girl merely took them unaware with the little sword. She won his
grudging admiration at her daring. It wasn’t often he was surprised
in battle. Still, his father would not be pleased to lose Danik and
Hagar.

He stared down at the baron’s daughter,
wondering if he led her to certain death when they arrived in his
homeland. The English noblewoman wasn’t a problem he needed. She
would stick a blade into him if given the chance. She wasn’t at all
what she seemed at first glance. No dainty genteel lady was she,
but a tiny warrior woman.

Ivar had his need for vengeance satisfied for
the moment with the baron dead. When he learned she killed two of
his men upon their return, he wasn’t sure how she would fair.

He thought of Collin of Lockwraithe, her
brother. The man would return from court to find his home
destroyed; his father dead, and his sister taken hostage. What
little wealth he had left to him would go to ransom his lovely
sister back from her Viking captors. That alone should appease his
father. Knowing Ivar, he would disparage the fact he couldn’t kill
Lockwraithe himself.

Joran looked down at the sleeping girl. She
was no more than eighteen summers. He noted her youthful beauty
with a frown. He felt lust within him the minute he saw her. He
rebelled against his traitorous thoughts for his enemy’s
daughter.

He already knew the folly of desiring a woman
as beautiful as she. This one would split his gullet if she got the
chance. He held the small sword she used to kill both of his men,
and marveled it had obviously been made for her.