Viking's Love (6 page)

“
The baron’s son will beggar himself to
have his sister returned to him. I think it just.”

“
You’ve done well, Joran,” Ivar
commended him with a look of pride. “Luxtley and Ulsted will scurry
like rats when they learn of it.”

“
One dead, only two remain,” Joran
agreed and his blue eyes narrowed. “Have you a plan for Luxtley
yet?”

“
Have no fear, Baron Luxtley will feel
my wrath, my son, as will Lord Ulsted,” Ivar assured him. “Halfdon
and Ubbe assemble their armies near York. They are angered to have
missed out on this.”

Joran grinned as he thought of his two
constantly-sparring uncles and how they would have argued non-stop
had they been in on the raid. The pair warred more among themselves
than their enemies. “I look forward to a time of rest, as do the
men.” Joran’s eyes fell upon his men seated not far away at a
table. “Luxtley will be more difficult to take than Lockwraithe
because it is farther inland. I expect they are now forewarned we
come.”

Ivar grunted and beckoned to a pretty serf
who smiled and joined him, sliding onto his lap. “I have all my
faith in you, Joran. Theron will be avenged, as the rest of our
Viking brothers.”

Joran eyed the chaos in the hall with a
wrinkled nose. Ivar’s home wasn’t as clean as his, nor were his
thralls treated as well. His leader was a man of war. Ivar paid no
heed to the rats scurrying under his table, nor did he mind
sleeping upon dirty, bug-infested furs.

Joran was soon used to the stench of Ivar’s
home, able to keep a straight face as he gave him a brief
accounting of the battle. Before he was finished, he was
interrupted by Wulfstan, who strode up angrily to pound his fist
upon the table.

“
Did you tell Ivar how the Lockwraithe
bitch killed Danik and Hagar yet, or shall I, Joran?” Wulfstan
insinuated himself into the conversation, his features florid with
rage.

“
What is this?”Ivar looked between his
sons with anger burning in his gaze. “Osgood’s daughter felled two
of my warriors and she still lives? What is the meaning of this,
Joran? Where is the wench? I cannot have a woman killing my
men.”

Joran ignored Wulfstan as he explained
himself. “The girl is aboard my ship. If it pleases Wulfstan, I
will see he is compensated with a tribute from the ransom for
Danik’s loss.”

Ivar weighed his son’s words with a fierce
frown. “You forget those who would be bitter to know Harold’s
daughter killed two more of our own and goes unpunished.”

“
The girl was but defending
her—”

“
That girl is the daughter of the man
whose betrayal killed your brother and many others!” Ivar cut him
off in fury, his pale eyes growing fierce. “She likes to fight,
does she? She can fight for her life in the pit! If she survives,
you can ransom her back! I’ll not have it said I allowed her to go
unpunished for the promise of coin! Hagar had a wife, Joran, and a
child on the way! Don’t belittle his value to them because you lust
for the Englishwoman and her ransom.”

“
Who would you have her fight?” Joran
saw Ivar’s smirk of amusement and fought his growing
unease.

“
Since the insult was made to Wulfstan,
he can choose who will meet the wench in the pit,” Ivar determined,
seeing Wulfstan smile in satisfaction.

“
I will have that honor, Father,”
Wulfstan insisted. “Danik was my brother. It is I who should slay
the girl.”

“
No, you will choose another,” Ivar
argued and glared at his son. “How fair would that be? We want it
to be entertaining, if nothing else.”

“
None of my men will fight a woman,
Father!”

“
It is you who demands this
satisfaction, Wulfstan,” Ivar pointed out with a shrug. “I will
allow Hagar’s widow to choose a man for you.”

Joran gnashed his teeth, thinking of
Allisande being forced into the pit to fight whoever Inid, Hagar’s
wife, would choose. He could see Ivar was unmoved. “She’s worth
more alive, Father. Give the ransom in silver to Hagar’s wife and
Wulfstan, but killing her gains us nothing.”

“
Nay, I’ve made up my mind in this,”
Ivar snapped and glared at Joran. “I’ll not have it said I was soft
on Harold’s daughter. If she lives, encourage me that you will make
the girl suffer as your slave until the ransom is paid.” Ivar
stroked his golden beard thoughtfully. “Yes, Joran will ransom the
girl back to her brother if she lives. You, Wulfstan, will be paid
tribute of twenty silver pieces for Danik’s loss. Hagar’s widow
will get ten and choose the man to fight for her. I will hear no
more of this matter, Wulfstan. Tonight we celebrate our victory for
our fallen brothers.”

Joran and Wulfstan eyed each other warily.
Wulfstan gave him an angry glare and stalked away. Ivar gazed after
him and eyed his companion with a quirk of his golden eyebrows. His
amusement was obvious. “Is the girl really as comely as they all
say? I heard she has eyes the color of amethysts, and hair as dark
as night.” Ivar sighed at Joran’s nod. “Very well, if she lives,
keep her as you wish, enjoy her most certainly. She is my gift to
you, my son. Come spring, send the wench back to her brother with a
Viking bastard in her belly.”

Joran knew he couldn’t sway his father. Ivar
rarely changed his mind. He gestured to Grogan and Sarne. They came
to the high table and he sent them back to his ship to retrieve his
new slave and her tiny sword. He felt sick to think he’d dragged
the proud beauty to her death.

Inid arrived soon after. The buxom blonde
chose a giant of a man named Hakon to fight Allisande. The man was
all brawn with no real skill at swords. He was relieved to know
Allisande had a chance. Still, Hakon had size and strength. The man
agreed to kill the Englishwoman in the pits without any
compunction.

Joran gazed at his father with a look of
disgust. “You would go through with this to appease our people’s
desire for blood? The girl is innocent of what Harold did!”

“
Tell me you at least bedded the girl
before Hakon slices her to bits, Joran.”At his son’s tight-lipped
scowl, Ivar chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Now, I’m really
disappointed in you, Joran. A pity she dies a virgin.”

“
I have no desire to have an unwilling
woman in my bed, Father. We can both agree there are enough who are
eager without any need for that?”

Ivar avoided his son’s eyes, reminded of his
actions with his son’s mother long ago. Ingar didn’t go to Ivar’s
bed willing the night his son was conceived. The rape was said to
have devastated his mother. She never got over it and it created
strife between her and Johan.

Joran hoped Ivar would relent in his edict to
proceed with the challenge. Ivar would appease his men before he
would stop this. The thought of the black-haired beauty going to
her death this night made him sick.

“
Hakon is as big as he is stupid! The
lady is not without skill! What if she wins?”

“
It matters not to me, Joran.” Ivar’s
pale eyes twinkled in delight as he viewed his eldest bastard son
and favorite. “If she lives, than she is yours to do with as you
wish. The Lockwraithe boy will pay or not, it matters little to me,
either way. It would please me to see Harold’s daughter your
slave.”

Joran drank his mead and thought of
Allisande. The memory of her disturbing effect upon him made him
scowl. The fact he lusted after his new captive wasn’t lost upon
him or his men. They teased him for failing to take his new slave
in hand.

Joran was determined he would conquer the
noblewoman and humble her. The thought of her warm and willing
amidst his bed furs made him feel eager anticipation. The thought
of her falling under Hakon’s sword and denying them both such
pleasure made him grit his teeth in frustration.

Joran looked forward to a long and
pleasurable winter with his fair slave. The thought of her vibrant
spirit snuffed out to appease those here made him curse his own
folly in bringing her with him in the first place. She had a
fighting chance at least, which was far more than Ivar would have
given any other.

Joran didn’t want to think of the outcome of
the evening’s entertainment. His conscience tweaked him enough to
think he’d brought her to this. Had he ignored his misguided lust
and left her at the abbey with her mother, she would be safe now,
not facing a hulking monster of a man who had little aversion to
killing such a dainty creature.

****

Allisande was working at the ropes that bound
her hands. She soon realized the Viking knew which knots to use to
keep her tied. She was left behind aboard his long ship while he
met with Ivar the Boneless.

She trembled to think of what was being
decided. A sense of panic made her think the worst. The thought of
putting her sword in the Viking’s heart cheered her as she awaited
her captor’s return.

Joran left her with ample food and water, and
a necessary length of rope to reach the bucket so she could relieve
herself. He took no chances of her escaping.

Several Vikings remained aboard in his
absence guarding the wealth of Lockwraithe in his hold. Having time
alone to think brought back her father’s murder at the hands of
Joran Ivarsson.

Allisande felt guilty to not feel the intense
grief she should to know her father was dead. She never got along
with her father. His ill-treatment of her mother often caused
bitter arguments between them over the years.

Harold flaunted his use of the female serfs
in her mother’s face. He was often cruel to his wife. Collin found
cause to step in between them when he would be in one of his rages
and seek to take it out upon Lady Edwina.

Allisande was ashamed of her father, finding
him vain and weak. Her father wasn’t a soldier, but a man loyal to
his king. She suspected some irregularity with his claim to have
paid a tribute to the Viking leader to protect his lands. She
warned him recently of what would happen should he trust the
Vikings.

Harold wouldn’t listen to her or Collin. All
those at Lockwraithe paid the price for it in the end. Her family’s
wealth was now in the possession of Joran the Stonehearted. She
frowned when she thought of him.

Joran made no attempt to touch her. For that,
she was grateful. She was allowed to study him freely in the days
following her capture. She reluctantly allowed he was handsome in a
brutish sort of way.

He was a large, powerfully built man. His
arms and thighs bulged with taut, corded muscle and power. His
chest was wide and taut with strength. His abdomen was flat and
ridged; not soft and paunchy as so many Englishmen’s were.

His hair was the color of pale wheat in
midsummer. It fell in waves to his broad shoulders. His rugged
features gave him a distinctly attractive appearance once he shaved
his thick beard off.

She despised herself for thinking him
attractive. The man was her enemy, not a suitor! He meant her and
her family harm, she reminded herself on more than one occasion. He
would take delight in hurting her to get back at Harold.

Allisande knew she risked much in defying the
Viking as she did. She managed to avoid rape at his brutal hands,
but for how long? She smiled grimly as she thought of taking her
sword to him should he touch her. That thought cheered her and kept
her spirits up as she sat to await her fate.

Allisande was realistic of her ability to
fight him off. She hadn’t the strength. She was a few inches over
five feet and no match for the Berserker. Thinking of escape helped
to ease the terror of her situation.

She knew her circumstance was precarious
after she killed two of Joran’s men in the attack. She heard his
men comment her life was now in Ivar’s hands. Most of the Vikings
agreed she would die by day’s end. She heard them talking out on
the deck after their leader left for his father’s house.

Allisande faced this new terror with little
fear, hoping for a quick death. Tears filled her gaze to think of
dying so young, but she pushed back her fear. She had the honor her
father lacked to face what was to come.

Her only consolation was that her mother was
spared this fate. No, she would not beg for her life, only hope God
was merciful and spared her suffering.

Wulfstan was demanding her death in exchange
for his brother’s demise at her hands. She grimaced as she eyed the
knots at her wrists she’d been working to loosen for hours. She
only succeeded in tightening them. The chafing made her wince in
pain. She looked down at herself and choked back a sob of
despair.

No one would know she was a powerful baron’s
daughter looking at her now. Her garments were ripped in several
spots and she was filthy. Her hair hung in lank waves to her hips.
She could smell her own body’s stench.

Allisande always prided herself on
cleanliness. After days of not being allowed to bathe, her spirits
were getting considerably lower. As a result, her temper was
growing short. The clean water they had aboard the ship was for
drinking. The Viking refused her request for a bath. He even
laughed at her when she asked for soap. She frowned when she
thought of her captor’s treatment of her so far.

Joran Ivarsson hadn’t been cruel to her. He
hadn’t beaten her as she thought he would. He listened to her
scathing abuse of him with a smile of patient amusement.

Joran would find she was no meek-mannered
lady. If he thought denying her a bath would break her spirit and
humble her; he would find she would prefer her own filth. She’d not
give him the satisfaction of asking him again for water to
bathe.