A Viking's Love

CHAPTER ONE

Lockwraithe Manor, England 869 A.D.

The mists surrounding the scenes of battle dissipated as the sun started to rise in the mottled grey sky. The vivid red and black dragon sails were stark and visible in the distance, hovering like specters of death. Dozens of Viking long ships were docked upon the beachfront.

The Viking horde stormed the shores of Lockwraithe before dawn. They met feeble resistance from the small village just outside the large, grey stone keep. Too late the alarm rang out of an impending attack. The sleepy seaside village was taken unawares. The lad in charge of ringing the bell fell under a Viking sword before he reached the tower. The inhabitants braced themselves within the keep for battle.

Lady Allisande Osgood stared at her hysterical mother and pushed her into the space dug out from the wall. There was only room for one to hide there. Lady Edwina sobbed and stared at her daughter in horror.

No! You must hide, my child! Her mother balked immediately, but her daughter wouldn’t argue the matter.

You must hide, Mama! Quickly! There is no time! Allisande pushed her mother behind the cabinet and stared at her with sorrowful violet eyes. I’ll not see you harmed. Collin and Father would have wanted me to protect you, Mama. Don’t worry for me. I will hide among the serfs until it is safe to slip away. This will be over soon. They merely seek to rob us and they will leave. You will see.

Lady Edwina’s ravaged face looked bleak. She focused on her daughter’s manly attire with disapproval, seeing the sword dangling at her hip. But who will protect you, my daughter?

Allisande smiled without humor. I pity the Viking who crosses my path, Mama. Now be quiet. I’m going to push the cabinet back. You don’t come out until all is quiet, do you hear?

Lady Edwina nodded, tears in her eyes. Go with God, my daughter! Do nothing to anger the Vikings! Give them what they want. Where is your father? Where is Harold? Where has he gone?

I haven’t seen him since the attack began, Mama, Allisande lied, not meeting her mother’s gaze. She saw Harold Osgood stuffing some belongings into a satchel before him and a half dozen of his men fled through the hidden passage behind the chapel wall. She suspected he ran while the Vikings were beating down the doors. She’d not tell her sainted mother her husband was a coward. He probably fights valiantly outside the keep.

Lady Edwina looked relieved at her words, worrying for her husband now as Allisande pushed the cabinet back in place, mindful of the steel doors being rammed outside. The Vikings would be inside at any moment. She didn’t have a moment to lose.

Her serfs saw her and came to her, whipping a ragged cloak about her shoulders, forcing her to hide behind them as the doors gave way.

Ye just stay quiet, Lady Allisande, Elspeth whispered with a warning and squeezed her hand, her pale green eyes filled with fear, no matter what happens, my lady. We’ll protect ye.

Allisande didn’t answer her maid, her violet eyes filling with fury as she heard the Viking war party outside the steel doors. Her hand itched to snatch the sword at her hip and join the fray. A dozen of her father’s loyal retainers poised to meet the band who attacked them at the door.

The promise she made to her mother stayed her hand. Lady Edwina made her hide among the serfs until it was safe. Allisande allowed her mother to believe that, knowing she had no plans to run and hide.

Thinking of her father who was nowhere to be found made her jaw tighten. He’d wasted little time in fleeing, leaving them to face the Vikings alone. A bitter gleam filled her gaze to think Harold would forsake them at such a time.

Her father’s cowardice made it impossible for her to leave her people now. She would stay and see this through. The rage in her eyes to know she could do nothing for the villagers beyond the keep made her shake in fury, huddling behind the group of cowering serfs when all she desired to do was kill every Viking who dared step foot onto her lands.

****

The smell of blood and death was thick in the air, as all was gutted, destroyed, and killed with wanton zeal. No stone was left unturned or overlooked. The thatched huts and cottages were burned to the ground, as well as the barns, sheds, and other outbuildings. Everywhere one looked was destruction.

The community well was fouled. The crops were coated with oil and burned. Even the baron’s prized hounds were taken from the kennels. Their throats were cut. They hung from the trees outside the keep, bearing testament to the total annihilation of Lockwraithe.

The survivors, those lucky few who managed to run for the woods, took shelter at the abbey not far from Lockwraithe. The fief was spared Viking raids for nearly a decade or more. The lord, the Baron Lockwraithe, Harold Osgood, paid a staggering tribute to the Viking leader, Ivar Ragnorsson, to keep his home free of the scourge that plagued the British Isles now.

The attack made no sense to the villagers and serfs. The answers for why it was done would have shocked the simple folk who served Lockwraithe faithfully all of their lives.

The battle sounds were sporadic and few as the morning wore on. Not far from the shoreline, a lone man stood amidst the half-dozen dead Englishmen scattered about the ground, clad in animal skins from head to toe.

The man was a fearsome sight, standing at well over six feet tall. His massive shoulders blocked out the grisly backdrop beyond him of butchery and mayhem. His rippling biceps bunched as he gripped his weapon in readiness, blue eyes narrowed, hovering there, looking amongst the dead for who he sought.

Joran Ivarsson searched for Baron Lockwraithe. The hunt began in earnest when the keep was taken after hours of battering the steel gates. After a brief skirmish with Harold’s last few loyal retainers, the steel doors finally gave way.

Dozens of Vikings ascended within the hall with whoops and war cries, sounding hellish and inhuman to the cowering serfs within. The lucky ones found places to hide and cower to await their fates. The others had the misfortune to fall beneath the Viking swords just for being too close to the door when they came forth.

A quick search conducted by the Viking put in charge of securing the keep concluded the baron was missing, his wife and children too. Soon the Vikings within Lockwraithe took to looting and raiding the considerable larder of food and drink while their leader took to the grounds outside to find the baron.

Joran listened closely to the sounds of the forest around him, conscious of the hair rising at the back of his neck. With sudden awareness, he swung around without warning, the large battle axe arcing out with an evil hiss, savagely cleaving a man in two who snuck stealthily up behind him.

The body of the Baron Lockwraithe toppled in a bloody, disjointed heap at his feet. His corpse was a grisly sight to behold, his life’s blood spurting upon the ground. Even the hardened Viking grimaced to see the carnage at his feet.

Joran stood silent over his fallen enemy now, recognizing him immediately as the one he sought. He cursed under his breath as he looked into the unseeing eyes of the baron in obvious regret. He tossed the axe to the ground in disgust.

Joran shrugged out of the helmet and fur skin mask covering his head. He tossed them on the ground nearby. He had vivid war paint of blue and black smeared upon his face and chest. His long, golden hair was wet with sweat. He raked a large hand through it now in frustration, knowing the death of the baron would enrage his leader.

His orders were clear. Take Harold Osgood alive. Ivar Ragnorsson would not be pleased to learn the baron escaped his justice through death.

The plan was to take the devious baron captive and torture him to name the traitors within the Viking’s ranks who conspired with the Englishman. The secret was now as dead and elusive as the baron.

The traitors were responsible for his oldest half brother’s death and nearly a hundred of his Viking brothers and kinsmen. He stiffened in anger to have denied his people the justice they sought.

Joran wanted to howl in fury at the unfairness. The raid was planned for over a year, down to the very last detail. One lone Viking survived that fateful day in the forests of Northumbria.

Only Wulfstan escaped the swarm of English soldiers to return to York to report to Ivar and his brothers of the ambush. The shipment of gold meant for the English king’s coffers would be escorted by a handful of soldiers, they’d been told by the deceitful baron. It turned into a blood bath when hundreds of English soldiers appeared instead.

Ivar’s oldest legitimate son was killed, as well as a hundred of his most trusted men, taken unaware by the outnumbering horde of Englishmen hiding in wait for the Vikings to arrive.

Ivar was convinced of Osgood’s treachery when he learned of the massacre. He became embittered to lose his oldest son and many valued warriors. He was proved to be right in his belief of Harold Osgood’s guilt. They captured the baron’s trusted man-at-arms. The man confessed of the baron’s sins under torture. He also implied one among them betrayed them, meeting with Osgood and Lord Ulsted to plan the ambush. The Viking who turned traitor was unknown now, much to Joran’s fury.

Joran muttered another curse and bent and closed the sightless eyes of Harold, unnerved by the sight of his grey-blue eyes staring sightlessly up at him. The look of shock was still etched upon his handsome, refined features.

Joran heard his name shouted from the stone keep in the distance. He schooled his features to hide his disappointment as he left the scene of death to join his men. The day’s victory was now clouded by the too-quick death of the baron.

****

Joran stalked down the drawbridge into the inner bailey, kicking squawking chickens out of his path to meet his first in command. A large, heavily-muscled redheaded Viking eyed his approach with a worried look. Joran’s piercing blue gaze narrowed when he saw the dozens of women huddling against the outer wall.

He scanned the courtyard where the Lockwraithe’s other serfs were tied together. Fear and shock filled the faces that stared back at the Viking Berserker leader, Joran Ivarsson. They cowered within the bailey to await their fate.

Joran, did you find the baron?Grogan strode forward with an intent look, sheathing his sword. The scribe said he ran when the siege was underway. What kind of man leaves his family at such a time?

A dead one, and by my hand, Joran informed his closest friend tersely, and shook his head in disgust, regret gleaming in his gaze. He came at my back! I killed him before I knew it to be him. My father will not be pleased to learn I’ve stolen that privilege from him.

Your father will realize you had no choice, Joran.

Ivar understands nothing, but expects everything nonetheless, Grogan, Joran replied bitterly, his sky-blue eyes filled with anger. His lips twisted into a sneer. He will be angered the baron escaped his justice, no more. What of his lady? Does she yet live? Where are his son and daughter? Are they among those here? Joran’s eyes slid over the group of women waiting to be led to the long ships beyond the ransacked keep. He hoped his father would be pacified to have both the baron’s wife and children to ransom back to the English king. Grogan looked uncomfortable. He looked away from the penetrating stare. Joran let loose a vile stream of curses. Thor’s teeth! Osgood’s wife and children were killed in the siege too? Is that what you fail to say, Grogan?

We don’t know, Joran. Grogan winced from the dark look from his leader.

Either they live or they’re dead. Which is it? Joran was ready to journey home. He wanted to be on the evening tide before nightfall. His disappointment to not have the baron as his prisoner was evident. We haven’t all night!

Wulfstan was in charge of securing the keep, Grogan recounted with a look of anger. He and his brother were more inclined to loot the baron’s riches and raid his stash of drink. When I arrived after the village was burned; it was realized the women weren’t identified during the confusion. None of us knows their tongue to ask them, Grogan finished with a scowl. Drakon was a bit over excited and killed the scribe in the hall before we could learn which of the women are Lockwraithe’s wife and daughter. We managed to only learn his son is at his king’s court. Drakon thought me done with him. He felled the man before we learned more.

Joran flung him a black look before he stepped over to the large group of women huddling against the stone wall. His cold blue stare made many shrink back against the wall, horror etched in their faces to see the huge, towering Berserker up close. They stared death in the face as they saw the carnage that stained his fur skin coverings. The axe strapped over his massive shoulder was still dripping with fresh blood.

Which of you are the Baroness of Lockwraithe and her daughter?Joran startled them all with his use of their English tongue. We haven’t all day! he barked, making some jump from his biting tone. You there, come here! He gestured to the old female serf who looked the least afraid of him. Where are your lady and her daughter? No harm will come to them. You have my word.

My lady escaped before the gates were breeched, the old woman cried in a fearful voice, eyes still lowered. She fled to the abbey with her servants. I don’t know where her daughter is. The lady Allisande has not been seen since mid-morning. I swear it is all I know.

Joran reached out and jerked up the woman’s chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She flinched from his cold, emotionless stare. He was satisfied by her terrified expression that she spoke the truth. He nodded and released her and gestured for her to return to sit with the others.

His expression looked grim as he turned back to Grogan, an irritated expression on his face. Where are Wulfstan and Danik now? he asked harshly.

They dragged a pair of wenches up to the baron’s chambers the last I saw of them, Grogan answered with a look of disgust.

Joran eyed one of his men standing nearby and snapped his fingers and pointed. Sarne, go back inside and get Wulfstan and Danik out here now. Whatever men remain in the hall should make ready to sail. We leave here within the hour.

The young Viking named Sarne grinned and took off at a run back within the hall. Grogan hid his smile of amusement. Joran’s men enjoyed the idea of Wulfstan and his brother being blamed for losing the baron’s wife and daughter in the fray.

What did the serf say? Grogan was mindful of his leader’s sour mood.

She said Lockwraithe’s wife fled before the siege began. The woman doesn’t know the fate of her daughter, Joran relayed with a grim look.

Joran, she lies to you.Grogan drew his leader aside, and glowered back at the group of women before he spoke under his breath. None could have escaped the keep once we got inside. The baron’s daughter didn’t sprout wings. She is still here hiding behind her servants.

Joran smiled grimly with little humor. I think you may be right, Grogan. There is only one way to be sure.

What do you mean to do?

We will draw her out. It is the only way. Joran unsheathed his sword, winking at his companion before he turned to address the women, his face filled with somber resignation. Unless one of you comes forward to identify the baron’s daughter, we will kill each one of you until we are satisfied you speak the truth.

Shrieks and cries were heard at the Viking leader’s edict. The women were crying and holding each other. The pleading and sobbing made him stiffen, hardly enjoying tormenting the women to gauge the truth. Before he could carry out his threat, a tall, blond Viking strode outside.

Wulfstan’s face was wreathed in annoyance as he spied his leader, his gaze filled with obvious dislike. The man was adorned with the riches of the keep, his massive neck displaying the jewelry and other items he pilfered from Lady Edwina’s room.

Wulfstan glared at Joran as he and his brother came forward. Danik was a smaller version of his older brother. Wulfstan and Danik were his father’s men, in addition to another man named Hagar, who hung back sheepishly behind the pair.

Wulfstan’s face was flushed from drink and the heat of battle. He and Joran shared the same pale, wheat-colored hair and large, powerful build, but for their eye color. Wulfstan’s steely grey eyes narrowed as he met Joran’s piercing blue stare.

All the Vikings in their war party knew there was more tension than affection between the pair, even if they were both Ivar’s bastard sons from different women. The brother’s locked eyes. Wulfstan flinched from the censure he saw in Joran’s contemptuous gaze.

Might you have waited to enjoy Lockwraithe’s bounty until the baron’s wife and daughter were found, Wulfstan? Joran glared a muttering Danik into silence.

The baron’s wife was gone when we broke through! Wulfstan glared at his half brother in defiance. She fled with her servants into the marshes. I sent men to search. They found nothing. We never found his daughter. We assume she fled with her mother.

You know this to be a fact, Wulfstan? Or did you not bother to find out?

Wulfstan flung an angry hand to the group huddled against the wall of the keep. Do any of those ugly crows look like a lady to you, Joran? My men and I looked them all over when we secured the hall. The lady and her daughter fled, I tell you. You cannot blame me for this.

Only the baron’s wife got away, Wulfstan, Joran explained, as if speaking to a little child. The condescension made Wulfstan stiffen with fury. That means the baron’s daughter is still here hiding among her servants. You gave her ample time to disguise herself as a serf when you began your wenching. Now we have to threaten them to get them to tell us which of them is she.

Wulfstan flung his leader a look of venom, but said nothing. Joran stalked to the group of women, grabbing one and jerking her away from the group. The woman screamed and begged with tears streaming down her face. He held his sword aloft and eyed the crying woman grimly.

Where is your mistress, girl? Joran held the sword over her shrinking head, eyeing the group of women. He gauged the horrified reactions of the group, seeing their frightened expressions. He began to lower his sword. A feminine voice suddenly called out sharply from the back of the group.

Stop, do not kill the girl! She startled them all with her use of their Norse tongue. The small group parted to reveal a figure swathed in rags and a hooded cloak that moved forward with determination. The hood was flung back.

The Vikings stared at the lovely, raven-haired beauty before them in disbelief. Her violet eyes filled with disgust and hatred as they met Joran’s.

Leave the girl alone, Viking! She is naught but a serf and did only as I commanded her!

Your sudden grasp of our tongue is appreciated, Lady Allisande. Joran pushed the girl back to the group of women. Had you not thought to speak up sooner?

Allisande eyed the Viking leader with little fear in her gaze and shrugged. Why should I make it easy for you after you destroyed my home, Viking dog?

Joran glared at the small-statured woman. He bristled at her insult. We waste time here debating your reasons for staying quiet. Where is your mother? Joran saw her small chin raise and a look of amusement crossed her arresting face.

She was sent to safety hours ago by me, Viking! Allisande gave an arrogant toss of her head, making the blue-black ringlets that hung to her waist unfurl and fall across her shoulders in a blanket of silk. She is safe from you!

Joran gazed at the baron’s beautiful daughter in silent admiration, seeing how she held her ground among them, not shrinking away as she should. Her heavily-lashed, violet-hued eyes drew his notice. They were filled with loathing as they met his. Why should I believe you, Allisande of Lockwraithe?

Why should you not? I have no cause to lie, unlike you, Viking scum!

You will mind your tongue, Lady Allisande. I know you would say whatever you had to in order to protect your lady mother and we both know it. How do you come to know our language? Joran was outraged by her continued insults. Did the woman have a death wish? Already his men grumbled to hear a woman talk to their leader thusly.

My mother thought it important I be able to be understood when I insult you, Viking! Did you not say I wouldn’t be harmed? She gave a scornful laugh at his angry expression as she turned his words around on him. Do you lie about that? Am I in danger now?

I have lied about nothing! Joran’s eyes narrowed as she gestured to the burning village behind them in the distance and laughed mockingly at his words, her violet eyes bright with unshed tears.

My father paid Ivar Ragnorsson tribute for years to avoid this, Viking! It doesn’t appear that you have honored that promise today.

Joran knew at once the baron’s daughter didn’t know the real connection between Ivar and her father. She believed the baron paid tribute to keep the Vikings from invading their lands. She had no inkling her father was in collusion with the Vikings, setting up his own neighbors to be raided, and sharing in the stolen wealth.

He reverted to English suddenly, seeing Wulfstan’s rapt expression as he listened to their words. Joran knew the least the girl knew the better. Learning her father was a traitor here, before her own people, was not something he wished for. Judging from the proud tilt of her chin, he knew the news would not go over well.

We will speak of it later, Allisande of Lockwraithe. We sail within the hour, Lady. You will accompany us to Norway.

Allisande looked shocked, all color draining from her face. What do you mean? You said I would not be harmed? She began backing away, looking at him like a hunted animal.

Joran folded his arms over his massive chest and gazed at the girl with an irritated expression. She would not go willingly, it appeared, but go she would. He gestured to Hagar and Danik absently, who gaped appreciatively at the English beauty.

Tie her with the others. Joran avoided gazing directly at the girl, unnerved by the way her lovely eyes filled with fury and disbelief.

Danik and Hagar stepped closer to the girl. Everything happened too quickly. Joran was slow to react, not thinking the Lockwraithe girl was armed until it was too late. Her hand snaked out of the folds of her cloak.

A small sword appeared in a flash before she drove the weapon deep into Hagar’s chest. The man went down first, his eyes filled with surprise and pain.

Allisande yanked the weapon free of Hagar’s chest. With a practiced stroke of her supple wrist the sword swung wide and severed open Danik’s neck, sending a blood spray that rained upon his companions. The man toppled holding his throat. He was dead before he hit the ground. The girl backed away, sword outstretched. She flung off the cloak around her shoulders. She wore chain mail and a suit of male attire beneath.

Joran swore viciously as she backed away from the group of women grimly, eyeing the five Vikings on the drawbridge with hate spewing from her eyes.

I’m not going anywhere, barbarian scum! Allisande backed away, seeing the five reach for their weapons and advance purposefully. You will have to kill me first!

Hold! Joran shouted as he saw Wulfstan’s intent. The man was in shock to see his brother and friend die at the hands of the tiny woman, and bore down on her with broadsword raised threateningly. Fall back now, Wulfstan! We will shed no more blood here today!

Wulfstan gestured to where his brother lay unmoving in the dirt, and Hagar who lay not far away. It is my right! The bitch killed my brother! You have no right to stop me! Danik and Hagar will be avenged!

Had you done what you were sent up here to do, the wench wouldn’t still have a weapon, Wulfstan! Joran approached and stepped between him and his pursuit of the girl. You have only yourself to blame!

The Lockwraithe bitch belongs to me!

She is under my protection until we take the matter to Ivar, Wulfstan.

You go too far! Wulfstan’s nostrils flared in outrage. His sword arm shook with the effort to withdraw. She killed my brother and you stand there and do nothing? Our father will hear of this, Joran, and how you killed the baron in error this day!

Joran saw the girl’s eyes widen in dismay to learn her father was dead. She backed farther into the inner bailey. Her eyes filled with tears. She eyed him like the lowest, most vile of creatures.

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.

Chapter Two

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.

Joran tucked the sword in his waistband and returned to the deck.

The Vikings left the English holding singing and brandishing their flagons of wine as they crossed the channel for the North Sea and home. Horns blared as the drakkars slid back out to sea in the darkness.

Joran stood alone at the dragon bow of the ship. He gazed moodily over the dark waves. The raid went smoothly. The only men he lost were to the Lockwraithe girl’s sword. He would meet with his father upon his return and give him an accounting of the raid. He would be free to return to his own stronghold for a time. The plans to go after the others would be devised.

Allisande of Lockwraithe would not be happy to learn she was a slave. The rich man’s cosseted daughter would find little warmth in his land. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the girl’s rage, having witnessed it firsthand. Joran was a Chieftain in his land. Her life was now his to command. He frowned when he thought of his real father.

His mother had been given to Ivar the Boneless as a consolation prize when a land dispute occurred between the Chieftain, Johan Larsson, and Ivar the Boneless twenty-five summers before. Joran was the result of that forced coupling. He would not learn of it until his father died years later and Ingar confessed the truth.

Joran didn’t question anything when Johan sent him away to serve at the warlord’s feet. He was a lad of ten summers and confused by his father’s coldness to him. Johan seemed to always hold him at arm’s length, never really treating him as his son.

Joran was embittered to learn the truth of who his real father was later when Johan died. Ivar embraced him as his son after that. He grew to love and respect the man eventually, but he felt uneasy of him just the same.

Ivar was often mercurial in nature. How he would react when he learned of Osgood’s death couldn’t be predicted. His legendary rages made one and all fear him. Joran knew him to also be fair. He would realize Joran had no choice in it.

Ivar could take the girl for himself, Joran realized, with a sickening lurch in his chest. His father had many women. His prowess was legendary. With twelve bastard sons and four daughters, he only took one wife over the years. His son, Theron, was the result of that disastrous union.

Joran was outraged by the unmistakable jealousy that burned within him at the thought of the girl being taken from him. He could say nothing. It was too late to leave her behind. He felt uneasy of her fate. Wulfstan would seek to retaliate against the girl. He ignored his inner warnings that he owed his half brother more loyalty than he’d shown. The way his granite-encased heart skipped a beat the moment he looked into those amazing violet eyes made up his mind.

When Ivar asked him to lead the attack upon Harold Osgood; Joran felt privileged to meet out his father’s justice. Joran never took captives before in previous raids. His people would be shocked by his actions when he brought her home with him. He knew it wasn’t only her ransom that compelled him to keep her with him.

When Joran saw her holding his men at bay with her tiny sword, he’d been riveted by her. His admiration for her daring made him slow to react as a result, something that galled him, never having seen such a dainty creature fight with such valor before.

He should have left her to Wulfstan. He only earned more of his half brother’s enmity for claiming the girl as his own. The bitter hatred between them was a constant aggravation to his leader these days. Ivar wouldn’t like to see his warriors at odds over a woman, Osgood’s daughter, no less.

Wulfstan would have relished any excuse to challenge him. Joran never went out of his way to fuel the man’s hatred. It was there, nonetheless. Wulfstan coveted Joran’s place at his father’s side since Theron died.

Joran ignored the politics within his father’s ranks, as he always did. He was preparing for when he would cease to raid. He had an eye to his future. He thought of his people. He was eager to get back to his home.

The girl would upset the balance within his peaceful home. His thoughts turned to his woman. His favorite bedmate would not like him bringing home the spoils of war. He suspected there would be trouble when Merta saw him toting his lovely slave home with him.

Merta believed he would marry her one day. She came to live at his longhouse after the last gathering of Chieftains to lure him to her bed. He went there obligingly, but still had no desire to remarry, much to her and her brother’s chagrin. He didn’t force her to be his leman. Merta took much for granted.

Her brother, Garran Herricksson, never sought to force his hand in regard to his sister, thankful to separate her from his wife. The pair never got along. The constant strife encouraged Garran to look the other way.

So Merta remained with him, hopeful he would offer for her. He never intended to remarry. The first time was bad enough. Thoughts of his wife made his face harden at the unpleasant memories. Aelynn’s treachery destroyed him for any other woman.

They’d married in haste after a brief courtship. He was blinded by love and her ethereal blonde beauty. He realized within six moons how unsuited they were for one another. Aelynn despised his remote lands in the mountains.

She complained incessantly of wanting to go back to her father’s longhouse. Joran thought if he were a wealthier man, she would be pleased. He returned to raiding as a means to increase his wealth.

He heard rumors she was free with her favors while he was gone and didn’t believe it. His father finally told him what his wife was doing in his absence. Discovering she was unfaithful was a blow. To discover she was carrying another man’s child devastated him.

Aelynn didn’t know which of her lovers fathered the child. She taunted him for months as she grew big with the child. Every bit of love he’d ever felt for her was extinguished in an instant. She died in childbed cursing him. He buried her and the babe together, vowing to never give his heart to another woman. After six years, he swore no heart beat in his chest until the minute he saw Allisande of Lockwraithe.

Joran refused to give into the churning emotions she created within him, reasoning it was lust, and nothing more. He hardly knew the girl. Knowing she was Harold’s daughter should have made him hesitate to feel such admiration. The girl would